To Wrought a Hundred Change
by A Mistake
Summary: The war is over. The wizarding world is still the same tattered, prejudiced, old-boy-network kind of place. So what's a determined witch got to do? If Hermione couldn't do it in the here and now, she'll take a gamble in jumping timelines; right into another Great War. Tags: AU, Hogwarts-age, time-travel, World War II.
1. 00 Prologue: Present Day

**Author's Note: **This is thanks to all the writers who write good AU Harry Potter stories out there, because if I haven't been reading some of them, the inspiration wouldn't have burned so much. I had to write it all down before it drove me nuts and I couldn't even concentrate on the paper I actually _have_ to write. I wrote this in a day. I edited it in another day. Any weirdness in style can probably be attributed to that. Many thanks to _Seablue Eyes_ who gave me valuable insight as to whether the story was pressing all the right buttons or not, and for reminding me that I have the weird habit of not putting periods when a sentence ends with a quotation mark. Well. Everyone has weaknesses. Onwards!

Reviews are very much appreciated, as usual. Not to mention it might give me an idea if there are anything interesting I could use for the next installment. If any.

**Disclaimer:** If it were mine, the books will not go the way they did. I'm not getting anything from writing but the lulz.

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><p><strong>'-<strong>

**To Wrought A Hundred Change**

**'-**

**Prologue**

"_For wars will end, but as long as men's hearts stay the same, they will begin again_."

**'-**

**Present Day, London**

The war had ended.

They were in the house of Lord-something-or-other, the party going in full swing. Hermione took a nice spot at the corner of the room where she could just lean on the wall and pretend to be drinking her champagne. The key word here is _pretend_. The accumulated echo of all yesterdays' headache was not completely gone from her head, and even if the noise wasn't as bad at the edges compared to the middle, they strummed her migraine with the dedication of a heavy metal guitarist. There were endless cheers and champagne and firewhisky, and this was the sixth party they attended this week. If she had to warn Harry or Ron or _Neville_ to keep away from the alcohol one more time, she wasn't even going to use her wand to do it. She'd take this pretty little handbag Ginny had lulled her into buying, use it to whack their heads and knock them out.

There was a laughing Susan Bones near the table with the canapés, where she was paying court to the attention of at least three guys at once. Hermione had no envy for her at all. The first celebratory party thrown for them was great way to blow steam, to rejoice with friends. The second still had the novelty aspect going for it. By the third party Hermione belatedly remembered that she preferred reading in a library than to attend most social occasions. She had also only remembered again at the fourth party that she did not find three quarters of the joke told to her by all these people she didn't know but who kept trying to get close to her to even be remotely funny. She kept count because she was _so very bored_. She would rather have talked with Daphne Greengrass or even Draco Malfoy—which, considering the slight awkwardness that was still between them sometimes, that was quite telling. Pretending to be polite had gotten old really fast on the third bloke whose groin she'd had to introduce to her knee.

Just because the party wasn't fun anymore didn't mean she didn't have any entertainment though. Watching Luna confound one interviewer after another was worth the stomach pains laughing out loud cost her (there was a cut to her side that wasn't exactly healed). Seeing Neville stood with an easy confidence she couldn't imagine five years earlier made her smile in a different way. After her headache receded and there seem to be more people on the floor than standing, she couldn't help but think about the dirty floor and smashed bottles and stacked plates. She couldn't help but think of the people (or elves. Can't ever forget the house elves) who would have to clean the place after everyone else went away.

It was exactly like the Wizarding World, actually.

The Dark Lord is dead—but what now? Magical injustice and inequality won't fix themselves just because Voldemort is gone. The majority of the seats at the Wizengamot are hereditary, and a big chunk of that is held by the traditionalist and blood purists. If they have to work together again to change the system, she would take it without a second thought. Hermione Granger had never backed down from a good cause.

Hermione raised the champagne flute to the first house elf she saw, who gave a watery smile back even if he (or she) was confused. A toast to a kindred spirit.

Hermione might not always know what to do in a party, but she knew cleaning up and tidying up more than anyone.

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><p>The war had ended three months ago.<p>

Diagon Alley had started to return to its former crowd levels and if Harry wasn't so glad normalcy had come around, he might feel the buzz bordering on intrusive. It was lunchtime already, and Fortescue's had almost always been full at this time that people would have to book a seat beforehand—unless one happened to be Harry Potter or his friends. They knew the proprietor well enough to know the hard-headed old man wasn't going to rescind the offer just because they won't ever use it, so these days it was usually Harry or Hermione who took that offer up most of the time. Sometimes Hermione saw Daphne, Luna or maybe Neville when he's running to London. Anyone else was rarely around though.

The ones from the old crowd who worked in Diagon Alley and stayed around for a while was usually just Harry and Hermione. Ron had been in the Cannons for some time, Neville was taking his Mastery in Herbology and the others didn't seem to work anywhere around there. From afar, Harry could see the storm brewing across his friend's face, even if it lessened slightly as she ordered her ice cream. When she came to his table, her expression was as dark as before.

"Did you see what's on the Prophet this morning? They're not repealing the discriminatory laws against werewolves yet," she said as she sat down across him. "I can't believe the Wizengamot!"

"Good afternoon _Unspeakable_ Hermione." Harry said from his ice cream, his best smile on his face. Her anger deflated a little and managed a smile at him. The old DA crowd had passed the trial period in their new jobs faster than most other people. Currently, it was obvious to anyone who went to Hogwarts with them that Hermione was still very proud of how she could put _Unspeakable_ in front of her name.

"Good afternoon _Auror_ Harry. How are things going?"

"The skirmishes are to be expected." He said with a wave of his hand. He didn't want to think about Voldemort's crumbling rearguard that was still around. He didn't want to muse too much about how the general security wasn't perfect yet, no matter what the Ministry would like to think. Maybe when he's back in his office, planning for the next move. "What do you actually work on?"

"Classified."

Hermione's grin told him that she had been waiting for _ages_ for someone to ask her that just so she could gave her that one line. "Just kidding! I haven't worked on anything much yet, just resorting and reorganizing the old division projects. We have to make sure no one's doing the same thing that someone had done years ago, but the filing and database system _sucks_."

Harry rolled his eyes. "So your problem with the laws on werewolves is a hobby?"

Hermione had a deep, faraway look on her face, a clear sign she was considering a vexing problem. "I know it's not really my business, but nobody seemed to actually do anything about it yet. If we're not the ones to start something, could we expect other people to?"

Harry glanced at the article, just to refresh his memory.

"Well, most of the annoying laws are gone, actually, these are only the last few ones, and they _do _make a good point. The Wizengamot states reasons of security to explain the restriction for werewolves' employment, and I could see their point if there's no guarantee the werewolves involved have secure containment area and procedure for when they change."

Hermione shook her head.

"There may be security reasons, but they're not final at all. The government could help the registered werewolves in creating change-rooms and making sure the existing ones are up to standard. They could also help with social workers checking around known werewolves' addresses around full moon to make sure they actually have someone to help them get into the change-rooms as well as having access to wolfsbane potion."

"Ah, but that's the task of _the Department of Magical Creature Regulation_ and _not_ the Wizengamot."

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed.

"So we can't do anything about it?"

"We could try having lunch with the Minister about it." Harry said. "But then again, I'd rather I run away from him first before getting trapped into an impromptu press conference. It takes rather careful planning to be able to talk to him and _not_ get dragged into politics in the process."

Hermione's ice cream arrived. The raspberry and snazzleberry swirls distracted her for a moment, but the tension poised at the corner of her lips were still there. Waiting. It was perpetually there and perhaps the lines re-etch themselves every time she read the newspaper. Her eyes, Harry thought, probably looked exactly like his right now. Old and jaded.

"What good are we as heroes if we can't make a difference?" she asked her bowl of ice cream.

This time, it was his turn to take a deep breath.

"I don't know, Hermione. I don't know."

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><p>Hermione used a time-turner to attend Cambridge at the same time that she worked as an Unspeakable. Most of the few friends that knew about it thought she was nuts. Harry wasn't quite aware of what her major was. Once she started asking to meet him in obscure bookstores in muggle London with a picture of a snake over and speak certain phrases or sentences in Parseltongue, his curiosity was piqued.<p>

"What's this for?" he asked, just after she pressed the stop recording button on her laptop. Her quill had finished writing down his words in written Parseltongue.

"I'm taking some linguistic classes as my minor. If Parseltongue is learnable, then breaking it down to find its grammar and actually teaching it to people would lessen the dark-wizard/witch stigma that seems to be attached to it."

"Is it really worth it?" Harry asked, curious at her dedication. "It would take up a lot of your time, you know."

She set her parchment aside and leaned back on her seat, her eyes flashing. If she had been in class, he half-expected her to push things away from her table.

"For goodness sake, Harry, we fought and won against Voldemort, and many wizards and witches still flinch if they happen to hear you speak _just another sodding foreign language_."

He smiled and said the only thing in his mind. "I've stopped caring about it a long time ago."

"But it still doesn't make what they do as right. I don't want to imagine that generations from us, some other poor kids with the unexpected talent are going to be shunned by their peers or supported into being _another_ dark leader. Honestly, the superstition about it beggars belief. If I had my way, I would like Parseltongue to be an available elective in Hogwarts and I'd teach all the houses."

The colour was still high on her cheeks, and Harry knew Hermione was nowhere near half done yet. It feels... odd, in a good way, to have someone actually take offence about how he was treated. It felt like a family he never had, and that was true, in a way. His Hogwarts friends were his family. He grinned.

"If you do that, I don't mind being the co-teacher." Harry said. He snapped his fingers a moment later when he remembered something else. "Maybe you could ask Luna."

"Why Luna?"

"Oh, I don't know," he said, a picture of nonchalance. "Maybe because she studied extensively on advanced Ancient Runes under Herbert Bernstein. She would've gotten her Mastery in it soon enough if she wasn't as insistent on being the shadow editor to the Quibbler at the same time. Who did you think wrote all those rune puzzles in the magazine? She did that even when we were still in Hogwarts."

She blinked, processing it in her mind, and Harry silently counted to three. His expectations weren't wrong in the least.

"Harry, you're a genius! I'm not aware of all the variations in ancient rune, and there's a possibility that one of them had been developed by a parselmouth. If Luna knew many rune variations, then she could explore that possibility. We only have to find out if there are any that are close in form or structure to the written Parseltongue. If we could establish similarities, we could also start deciphering written Parseltongue..."

Harry let her words drift over and out as he leaned back and relax. No, he didn't really see the minute details as far as Hermione did, but it was always nice to be able to help, no matter how little.

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><p>It was Fortescue's at lunch time again, sometime later after the winter had released its biting hold over the city. Another week or two, and it would be the six month mark to the end of the war.<p>

Harry had just only gotten used to the regular schedule of his office again after being on the field for one dark artefact raid after another. Hermione was gripping the _Daily Prophet_ in her hands until it creased—never a good sign. There were three of them there, with Luna being the third, and no matter that the place was called an_ ice cream parlour_, they had ordered anything but ice cream. Harry was watching the way Hermione's jaw muscle clenched and waited for her outburst with a morbid fascination (he had rarely been required to actively talk to her at those times, usually she only needed to vent to a sympathetic listener).

"Did you know that merpeople are classified as _beasts_?" Hermione folded her crinkled newspaper and tossed it aside.

"It's not unexpected, considering that the centaurs won't even stay in the same category as 'humans'," Luna offered. "Maybe the merfolk might consider it an insult too. A variant of the word 'human' in Gobbledygook is certainly an insult when aimed at another goblin."

Harry laughed. Hermione's grudgingly allowed a smile to grow on her face. Considering that Fudge wasn't exactly a sterling example of humanity, Luna had a good point. Hermione expression told him that she was far from done, but her tone was calmer when she spoke up again.

"But I hardly think they would want to be in the same category as kneazles, crups and _jarveys_, especially if they'd be affected by the same blanket laws. Maybe we need a third category, the _Magical People_."

"If you ever manage to do that Hermione, I'd be the first person in line to ask to for a category change." Harry said. Hermione gave him a _look_ while Luna was nodding away and saying that she wouldn't mind that so much either.

"I'm serious here, Harry..."

Harry gave her a grim smile as he turned the newspaper around and tapped his finger over an article. It said that the London society thinks the Boy-Who-Vanquished as being too unsocial, as he had yet to attend any parties or large gatherings within the last half a year. Another one was wondering loudly about his mental health, whether society could afford to let him run free. Again. Hermione's face went from pale to crimson in a heartbeat. He was sure her knuckles were white underneath the table as she held back her indignation.

"Why did you think I wasn't?" His voice was as neutral as a mask.

'-

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><p>"Could you teach me Occlumency, Harry?" Hermione asked him once. Her immediate superior had pointed out that she needed to master it before she was allowed to take on more secretive and sensitive artefacts and projects, and she chafed under the restriction.<p>

"I think we've tried that and it didn't quite work... not that you can't do it or anything, mind you, but I think our approaches are very different. I like keeping defence walls, while your research habits make you feel more natural in sharing things than keeping them in."

Hermione glared at him and Harry backed away with a worried look. "I'm not saying you couldn't do it! Really, Luna doesn't even keep a wall and I know I wouldn't ever want to try to attack her mind. Her defence is of a wide open type too, I think you could learn better from her."

"She keeps no walls? But I read on Bartleby's _Principles of Occlumency_ that your wall visualization must be of the most solid and impenetrable object you know, and—"

"Please, Hermione, _I wouldn't know_." Harry sat back and relaxed again. "I apprenticed directly under a friend of Moody's. I know how it feels, and how it worked in my case, but if you ask me the theory, it's just going to go straight out of my ear. Luna could do it. Trust me and go ask her. I asked her to let me attack once, just to see if I could do it, and I don't think I ever want to do it again. Ever."

"What do you see?"

He shuddered. "Abnormal geometry. There were rooms after rooms connected by a flower, a teapot or even a deranged house elf. There's no reason and only pure _whim_. The connections shift all the time too. Then, there are corridors out of time. Floors should definitely _not_ be able to be tiled with _heptagons_, dammit."

'-

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><p>Harry had habitually left home before the crack of dawn. He had varied his schedule and route, just to reduce predictability, but <em>always<em> before the sun was up. His reaction made more sense that way to other people. He couldn't help scanning his surroundings every time he got out of the house and carefully eyeing every pedestrian within range, but no one would think twice about it if he did it in the dark.

This morning was no different.

At least he thought it would be until he heard the faintest rustle outside the fence. He blinked. His mind clicked and identified an ambush. Someone would be waiting for him to walk out. Harry charmed his footsteps into silence and ran to the other end of the front yard. He sent a jelly-legs curse, full body bind, as well as a healing spell he bastardized according to Lockhart's last application of it and removed the bones of the wizard's right hand. There wasn't the slightest pause from the moment he finished the last curse to the second he kicked the man away and held him down with one knee. Harry's movements had been automatic and precise, his mind cold calm and his hand steady. It was only when he had finished scouting the area for more ambushers, possibly unseen that Harry saw the prone and scared man on the ground and saw him for who he was—a reporter, not a Death Eater.

He sighed and helped the man up. He reckoned that he'd better floo St. Mungo right now and make sure the man received his dose of Skele-Gro.

"Is there any reason why you didn't notice why the DMLE decreed that my dwellings are off-limits? You could've been caught in the crossfire of someone looking for vengeance."

Harry did not mention how the personnel reports mentioned something about his hair-trigger combat reflexes he had yet to tune down. He had already done his best to make sure that report was always at the bottom of the pile in his current superior's desk. Considering how awfully hectic these days are, he wouldn't be surprised if his report hadn't seen the light of day since then.

It was just the way he liked it.

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><p>"<em>The mouse is tasssty<em>."

"_The mouse is the tassstiest meal I've tassted._"

Hermione's focus had always been laser-guided when she was seriously studying something and she could block almost any distraction thrown her way. Luna's casual indifference to almost everything around her when she had her distraction was legendary even in the Ravenclaw towers. Therefore, it really shouldn't surprise Harry that both of them decided it was perfectly sensible to practice Parseltongue in broad daylight, on Saturday, in Fortescue's, but he stopped and stared anyway. Neither of them looked like they had noticed the way the tables and chairs around them were empty in a no-man's-land perimeter.

Harry tried to smile at the few worried people looking in his way, and decided to maybe drop the act altogether when it only made the other people to shrink away from him in fear. _Oh, honestly..._ he rolled his eyes as he sat down on the table. Even with the empty space around him, he still felt claustrophobic. Well, he had idea what to do about that.

"Have you ever eaten sushi, Luna?"

Luna and Hermione looked up from their practice; Luna with her usual mild curiosity and Hermione with the annoyed look she always had when disturbed from her studies. Both of them smiled when they saw him and greeted him without delay.

"What's with your sudden interest in it?" Hermione asked.

"Just looking for a change of place. I feel like getting away from the wizarding world for a while." Harry didn't have to say anything more before both of his friends noticed the distance the people around them kept. It barely affected Luna, as usual, but the line of Hermione's shoulders turned tense.

It wasn't a surprise that everyone thought it was a good idea.

'-

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><p>When Hermione next asked Harry to borrow his invisibility cloak, he could guess that it would be for one of her rather mysterious researches. So he told her that he could only lend it to her on one working day because he needed it most of the time. He carried a lesser invisibility cloak or two he had found in the Potter family vault with him instead and a newly created Marauder's Map of the Ministry of Magic—he had asked Remus for his and Sirius' notes about how to make the map, no matter how incomplete. Hermione would have been proud if she knew the results of the NEWT-level charms notes that she lent him.<p>

Harry had only made a show of going away to an unobtrusive nook. He used the invisibility cloaks over himself there and returned back to her office to painstakingly observe what she was doing.

A potion with a hazy smell bubbled in the air, and that had taken all morning until it was done. What he thought was a small glass table on the corner of the room turned out to be a mirror supported flat on its back. It was only noticeable once Hermione dragged it all the way to the centre of the room, next to the cauldron. There was an hourglass the size of a teacup on her table. She covered herself with the invisibility cloak and drank the potion (her floating hand was still visible). Next came she waved an extensive wandwork he had never seen before, and after that Hermione turned the hourglass on the table.

Then she disappeared. The arm that was previously hanging out of the invisibility cloak had stopped being there anymore, instead of gradually slipping into the cloak. Harry groaned, borrowed Hermione's time turner to make up for _his_ lost time and went back to his office.

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><p>"You both seemed to have gotten the hang of Parseltongue well," Harry said. The background noise of Diagon Alley faded away as he entered the silencing charm that both Hermione and Luna had always constructed around themselves lately.<p>

Hermione nodded. "Pretty well, yes."

Luna was shifting through her notes and adding her own annotations on them and Harry watched a line identical to what she was scribbling surfacing on the Gryffindor girl's parchment. The 'true copy' spell on both papers ensured that whatever Hermione wrote in hers would come up in Luna's and whatever Luna wrote would be visible in Hermione's.

The bushy-haired young woman had a proud smile on her face. "After this we can hold conversations. I think if we manage to teach you the grammar and some vocabulary, you would be able to consciously speak Parseltongue without having to face a snake first."

"So... what have you been working on in the office?" Harry asked, "Or is that classified?"

"You're an Auror; I think an answer without many details is acceptable. I'm making a mirror that can scry into the past." Hermione said, "It doesn't go too far, a year or two at most, and balancing the exact time frame is hard, but I'm sure it would be invaluable to see past events."

Luna's didn't even glance at Hermione when she explained this and continued to try to conjugate in Parseltongue.

'-

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><p>It was only on Harry's second attempt of sneaking at Hermione that he remembered the mirror in her office. This time, he didn't go back directly and peered into the mirror.<p>

He was staring straight at the last battle with Voldemort.

Harry sighed and walked away. His curiosity was more than satisfied for now and he certainly did not need a reminder of how some of his more recent nightmares went.

'-

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><p>The next time Hermione borrowed his invisibility cloak again, he didn't even give her a time limit and just told her that she could return it to him when she was done.<p>

"I'd rather have you come back in one piece than have the cloak back without you." he had honestly said. She was a bit embarrassed that he thought she'd be that careless, but Harry only said that he'd had enough of having his friends and acquaintances end up as dead people. The flatness of his tone and the deadweight in his gaze convinced her that he was serious, and he shook his head when she tried to say again that she'd be fine. He really didn't feel anything he could ever hear would amount to anything much if he would never saw Hermione again.

What he saw in the scrying mirror was his second year in Hogwarts. At this point, Harry had concluded that somehow, Hermione had managed to go beyond the time-frame limitation that she told him about earlier. As far as she seemed to be able to stay safe and out of trouble all this time, something was nagging him at the back of his head.

Why? Why was she doing this?

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><p>"Did you know that orphaned muggleborn wizards are usually left to stay in their original orphanage in and out of Hogwarts? The wizarding world doesn't even have <em>one single orphanage<em> to their name" Hermione said on one of their mutual dinners together.

"Children from wizarding families are expected to be raised by relatives." Luna added.

"Yes, but it's not fair for the orphans that they couldn't practice magic _at all_ during summer, while children from wizarding families can still do it once or twice as long as their guardians watch over them. Not to mention that the Ministry didn't seem to even personally check the conditions in each orphanage one by one." Hermione conveniently left out the fact that she had been rechecking Tom Riddle's background from the memory that Harry contributed to her pensieve. There was nothing _right_ about Lord Voldemort's actions, but the wizarding world's system still left a lot to be desired too. She could understand some of his reasons, somehow.

"I've always used my wand all summer." Luna commented, to which Harry gave her a rather jealous look.

"Precisely! While Hermione and I couldn't do that."

"So, why isn't there at least one wizarding orphanage?" Hermione went back to her topic. There goes the tenacity she was always famous for when she had an objective to aim for. "I mean, it could also double as a safe place for children from muggle background to practice their magic outside their home."

"Because no one cared enough for the orphaned muggleborns?"

Luna's offhand remark earned long silent looks from both Harry and Hermione. She gestured with a fork on one hand; the prawn speared on its end wobbled a little as she made her point.

"Well, it _is_ quite obvious, isn't it? The magical guardian for children of muggle backgrounds and orphans without known magical relatives defaults to either the headmaster of Hogwarts or a member of the Wizengamot. There is no mention of the child's preference."

"_WHAT?_"

Hermione looked quite livid, Luna was nodding along as she tried to remember other bits and pieces that might be interesting to talk about, while Harry wished that he could duck under the table should Hermione's temper finally blew.

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><p>It was a little over a year after the end of the war.<p>

"Harry?"

Harry pulled his attention away from the papers he had to file and saw Hermione entering his office with her Unspeakable cloak on her. "Yes?"

"Did you fight the Basilisk in the second year with another student?"

"What? No! I mean, it was just me."

She nodded, as if that was the answer she had been expecting all this time anyway. But if she knew it already, why ask? What had she seen?

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing." she said softly, almost soft enough to drop at the edge of his hearing.

"_Hermione_."

She sighed. "I've just found out that fine tuning the _time_ aspect isn't the only thing I have to worry about when I make the potion. Now it turns out that there's another aspect whose inaccuracy could threaten the worth of my work; a certain _locality _related complication."

"Let me help you. I'm not that bad at potions." Harry said. He had walked away from his desk without even realizing it. "Besides, as long as we're still in the UK and around the right time, just apparating to the targeted location isn't too difficult, right?"

She shook her head, but didn't stop her lips from curling into a smile. "You have an outstanding in your potions' NEWTS, Harry, I think you've earned the right to call yourself more than 'not that bad' at potions."

He shrugged, not really seeing a problem about it.

"Still, you have your own work to do, and I have mine. I'd hate to impose too much on you. I think I'll check it again and see if I've managed to fix it this time."

Hermione had walked out of the room even before he could even say that there was no way she was imposing. Hermione Granger had always, _always_ carried her weight in any academic partnership she was involved in. It was then that he noticed she hadn't answered or addressed his last question at all.

_Besides, as long as we're still in the UK and around the right time, just apparating to the targeted location isn't too difficult, right?_

Was it so hard to say 'yes' to that, or was the answer something she didn't want to tell him at all?

'-

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><p>"The motion to forward the bill to modify the law on magical guardianship didn't get to pass the Wizengamot." Hermione said with a groan. She carelessly bit another high-sodium-content French fry. She was definitely annoyed enough to not care about it at the moment.<p>

Harry had helped her in trying to build an argument for it, and he didn't know why Ginny had only given him and Hermione a tired smile last Christmas at the Burrow. Ginny had steered clear of their conversation and Luna's occasional commentary. It's not as if the cause was as far out of most wizarding folk's comprehension as _house elves_, and there was a tiny bit of Harry that was disappointed about it too. Does it mean that not many would care the kind of home he went to in the summer if he hadn't been the Boy-Who-Lived? He wasn't even sure that he bought Dumbledore's blood ward argument completely—certainly not beyond fourth year and after Voldemort gained immunity to his blood. It had been a rather anticlimactic Christmas; Bill and Charlie had emergencies to tend to and had to leave soon and Harry followed not long after them, not caring that it was late already. Now, they were in an unremarkable 24-hour fast food place in muggle London.

Harry sighed. To tell the truth, he had half-expected it, unlike Hermione, but he didn't have the heart to say so earlier. Not when even Neville did his best to make sure the Longbottoms were behind them.

"It's an annoyance, but not completely out of the blue. It's not as if we've personally talked to each of the other members too."

"I'm sorry, guys." Neville added, before Harry and Hermione rushed in at almost the same time to tell him that he had helped them more than anyone else and he had nothing to apologize about. Out of all of them, he had the most pronounced tan from travelling to different places in search of rare plants.

"The project to make a third 'magical people' category hasn't gone far either." Luna said, eyeing her fish burger curiously. "Maybe we need to make a campaign for it, something like 'Harry Potter wants to be in a third category, support the magical people now!'"

"Maybe they don't want to change for, I don't know, until another _hundred_ years has passed?" Harry couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice. He tried not to think too much about it and focus on the warmth of Luna's hand patting his arm. Hermione stilled in her chair. If his ears weren't half as good, he wouldn't have caught her words.

"Maybe we have to change the root of the matter, to go back _farther_."

When he returned his attention to Hermione, she had somehow drifted into a conversation with Luna on how wizarding Britain had moved too late during Grindelwald's rise, and paid a hefty price for it. Neville hadn't given any other comment while Luna was shaking her head at this point.

"Inertia and denial is a powerful force. I think some of the burden also falls on the leaders who didn't rouse everyone else in time. They have the power to see farther than what the common folks could see. Of course, we have the benefit of hindsight, so it's hard to determine if what they actually see back then is anywhere near to what we _could_ see now."

'-

* * *

><p>"My friend was having trouble in getting a recommendation just to be able to rent a place close to <em>work<em>." Hermione said on one of their random, but oddly regular meetings. "When I last told Daphne about it, she insisted that she was never even asked for one when she was getting her apartment, and it wasn't that far from where Melinda was trying to get hers."

A few months ago, Hermione would go on and on for at least a few minutes. Now, she just drops these uncomfortable truths bit by bit and watched as painful comprehension hit them with the patience of a trapper. Harry wasn't sure if this more patient, cagey Hermione was a good development or not—at least until he realized that he had been like that as well for some time now anyway. His friend simply had gone on a slower pace of change than he did.

"She's a muggleborn, isn't she?" Luna asked the rhetorical question out loud.

'-

* * *

><p>Hermione was going through the past with her scrying mirror as another invisible shadow and watching her younger self solve the logic puzzle guarding the philosopher's stone with palpable excitement. Her potion made her partially wispy, incorporeal. With the invisibility cloak over her, her non-existence was complete. She was as silent as any ghost of Hogwarts.<p>

Why, she mused, did the headmaster think that the school would be a better defence against Voldemort than the Flamels, a couple magic wielders that were over centuries old? If it was the Hogwarts wards that are powerful, why didn't he just invite the Flamels to stay over for a while?

If he was protecting the stone, his behaviour made no sense. If he was preparing a trap with appropriate _bait_, however...

A red hot flash of emotion surged through her even as her heart felt cold, colder than it had been. Her brain worked faster, her senses more _acute_.

Why did no one stop Albus Dumbledore from laying a _trap_ for a suspected _Dark Lord_ or his minion, inside a _school_ and under such close range to _many, many innocent children_?

What if the Dark Lord had held some children hostage, and asked for them to be exchanged for the stone?

_Why_, a corner of her mind hissed, with a burning feeling Hermione never thought herself capable of, _did no one stop Albus Dumbledore?_

'-

* * *

><p>"Hello Hermione," Luna gave her a friendly wave and a gentle smile, even if it was paired with the half-blank look she had most of the time. Hermione had figured that she worked somewhere in the Ministry as well, as there were a few times when they passed each other like this.<p>

"Hello Luna."

"Have you been looking back too far again?"

Hermione paused mid-stride and turned around, brows furrowed. "Luna?"

"Just be careful not to sink into regrets too much, Hermione. The wrackspurts are going to eat your dreams if you do. You'd be a walking dead if it happens."

'-

* * *

><p>The war had ended sixteen months ago.<p>

"Are you sure you don't want to run as Minister of Magic, Harry?" Hermione asked, offhand. Everyone was too tired tonight, and no one volunteered their reasons to anyone else and everyone was fine with the companiable silence. Neville and Luna had turned to Hermione the moment she asked the question, definitely curious.

Harry picked his glass of drink and held it aloft, wordlessly asking Hermione to observe. She did. A few seconds later, the shakes were noticeable.

"The counsellor you recommended to me still didn't think I'm clear to go yet, for some reason." Harry said, in that dulcet, deceptively calm voice of his he usually used against reporters of Rita Skeeter's type. "Her PTSD diagnosis still stands, she said."

Hermione never brought the topic up again.

'-

* * *

><p>"I really don't mind if you move in with me, Melinda. We could share a flat." Hermione insisted. The younger witch with honey-blond hair gave her a sad smile.<p>

"I know you don't. You're one of the truest friends I've ever had, Hermione. I think you'd have made a great Hufflepuff." she said, her beautiful hazel eyes still managed to shine even when her mood was subdued. "But the more I think of it the more I realized it's not just about the flat I couldn't seem to get. It's also about Jerkin, about and his regular crass comments that no one ever seemed to care about before you came around. Before you managed to get him banished to some obscure corner of the bureaucracy. It's also about the news I hear on the rumour mill about the kind of career slowdown a muggleborn witch could expect. Especially when one doesn't have any significant connections and easy acceptance of certain questionable morals."

_No, no, no..._ Hermione convinced herself that she was imagining things, and that her friend wasn't saying what she thought she was saying. Not when she'd finally managed to get Jerkin's superiors to notice what an annoying arse he'd been. Not when she thought things would be more normal and bearable for Melinda.

"I'm as muggleborn as they come and we could give them all a kick to their stiff backsides! You still have a lot of potential, Melinda."

She shook her head. "I didn't even manage to be an Unspeakable like you, only the Department of Magical Transportation. Besides, you're not as muggleborn as they come, Hermione. You're one of the more legendary witches in the last war. You're a trusted friend of Harry Potter! I'm just..._average_ compared to you. I can't do what you can do, and I certainly can't get away with the things you can."

Melinda Larkin pulled her handbag up her arm and fiddled with her bracelet as she kept her eyes on her shoes. Her voice was quivering, the last sound of a forlorn harp plucked of all it strings.

"You can shake the system, Hermione, but I can't. You've got a good idea, taking a muggle college degree like that. It's not too late for me to build a life on the other side. I'm... I'm sorry, Hermione, I can't do this anymore. You could, though, I'm sure you could."

"You don't need to apologize for anything." Hermione choked out.

The Gryffindor witch held her friend for one last hug, one that was as comforting as it was painful. Melinda was looking at Hermione with a certain guilt, as if it was her own fault that she couldn't stand working in the Ministry. Hermione wanted to assure her friend of the opposite, but she didn't know if Melinda would let herself listen to it at all. She was beginning to figure out how it felt being as famous as Harry Potter.

Victory tastes like ashes when you're alone.

'-

* * *

><p>Hermione passed Draco in the corridors not long after that, and she saw something she thought she'd never see in his eyes. Grudging acceptance. Sympathy.<p>

"She's right you know." Draco had muttered.

"Who's right?"

"Your stunning Hufflepuff friend with full lips and killer legs that had just handed her resignation in? Larkin?" Hermione gave him a _look_ for the comment, but he merely shrugged, a wordless expression of 'you know what I'm saying is true' on his face. The second thing that she noticed was how Draco Malfoy was unexpectedly well-connected in the gossip department, and she had the absurd image of seeing him socialize in the powder rooms. She smirked while Draco continued.

"She's one of the most beautiful people around—barring Veela heritage—and she's a muggleborn. Many a right bastards are going to make her career difficult just so she'd feel cornered enough at one point to ever look at any one of them as _saviours_."

"And you're one of them?"

Draco snorted. "Do I look like I'm that _stupid_ and _desperate_? Of course not. I'm just saying that there's a lot of stupid and desperate people _out there_."

At the last two words, he didn't actually point towards the door that lead out of the Ministry—he was pointing inwards. Towards what she liked to think as the internal bureaucratic jungle. _Homo homini lupus_ and all that.

"And you think the Ministry can't be changed." Hermione didn't pose that as a question—asking something that obvious was just begging for any self-respecting Slytherin to snark on you. Besides, she didn't have to. She saw the jaded look in his grey eyes, the exasperation held back from appearing on his pale face and she said her next thought out loud too.

"You don't think we can ever remove the people like that from their offices either."

He scoffed.

"Merlin, Granger, I'd love to boot a lot of people in here. But are you that desperate to make the Ministry understaffed? I'd like to see you try running that idea past the Minister."

'-

* * *

><p>Hermione wrote one line in her diary.<p>

_Revamp the Ministry of Magic_.

Then, she threw it across the room in frustration. It went with a less-than-satisfying 'shlep' against the wall. It was Saturday night and Hermione begged to be excused from meeting Harry and Luna. She knew they'd understand.

Hermione couldn't take it anymore, all these people she had been passing in the street, going on with their lives as if nothing was wrong with their world, the wizarding world. She wondered how many muggleborn witches and wizards never actually stayed in the wizarding world completely. Hermione was determined to go to Hogwarts the first thing in the morning and get the graduation records and student backgrounds. She could send owls to all of them, start a Hogwarts alumni survey. Maybe she could ask John, a business school guy from marketing, to help with the wording. McGonagall certainly wouldn't mind if Hermione put her idea forth. It would be a good thing for the school too to keep tabs on their graduates.

She tried not to think about what she might uncover.

'-

* * *

><p>Hermione had finally finished tallying up her results and she checked her laptop (in the most securely magic-dampened room in her apartment). There was an unsettling nervousness in her stomach even before she'd started. A premonition she couldn't rationalize no matter how much she thought divination was tosh.<p>

Of all the replies Hermione received from the muggleborn alumni, only a quarter of them had occupations outside the wizarding world.

Of all the muggleborn alumni Hermione sent her surveys to, a third didn't reply at all.

She couldn't stop thinking about it.

'-

* * *

><p>It was more than one and a half years after the war ended.<p>

It's not that she was unsatisfied with her work right now—she's happy, really. It's intellectually challenging, she had access to many artefacts the average wizard didn't even know could exist _and_ she was _paid_ to tinker with them and find out how they work. Really, there was rarely any other job out there that would be as mentally satisfying to Hermione Granger.

But university head-hunters had told her that it's always a good idea to update your CV once every six months, and it's good precautionary measure to check what kind of job offers you've been receiving and what other options are out there for you. So she decided that she'd do exactly that.

There were modelling offers from _Witch Weekly_, a request for an interview with the _Prophet_, and a letter from a publisher telling her the kind of sums they were prepared to pay if she would publish an autobiography with them with subtle requests of love gossips concerning her friends. There was a rejection for a diplomatic post she had even forgotten she had applied to some months ago. Another offer from _Playwizard_, with double and triple payment for her if she could coax one or two of her friend to accept the appointment with her as well. Hermione had to look away and count to sixty before her magic burst out on its own and burned her whole 'non-business and non-personal letters' inbox.

She resumed her task. There was a letter from the Minister of Magic. It was an apology of sorts; he said that he felt bad because he couldn't accept her as one of his advisors, no matter how gifted she was, because she had not yet worked in the Ministry for long enough (well, perhaps not exactly in those words).

Hermione was calm until she reached the part that he expected her to become a Ministry employee for at least _fifteen years_ before she could even be considered for the post. The man wasn't even talking about work experience, only _working-in-the-ministry_ experience. At this point there were only around three other letters there. She knew, really, that wizards and witches lived a lot longer than non-magical people, and will definitely have longer careers. _Still_... She gritted her teeth and tried to hold it in—

—and failed. The 'non-business and non-personal letters' inbox went out in a retina-blazing mini explosion complete with a mushroom cloud.

'-

* * *

><p>"Wait up, Granger... Hermione."<p>

It wasn't a voice that she heard often, and just by that it was enough to make her stop and wait for the wizard to catch up. She was mildly surprised when it turned out to be one Draco Malfoy in a smart black robe. He definitely looked determined to be part of the movers and shakers.

"I didn't think I've seen you anywhere near my wing often enough, Draco."

"I had business to conclude in the area." he said nonchalantly, "And I thought I'd drop you a message while at it and kill two birds with one stone. Did you know that the Ministry has yet to legally undo Umbridge's educational decrees? No one's paying attention to it right now, of course, but it's still there. Anyone in power could still place Hogwarts under their mercy as long as they get to half of the Hogwart's Board of Governors first."

She held back a low frustrated growl. Why hadn't anyone thought to deactivate it once the toady woman was out of office? Oh _yeah_, there's that one little thing called the war going on. Dumbledore probably managed to override it with some emergency condition provisions, though she wondered why no one seems to be thinking much after the war was over. Hermione took a deep breath.

"Why are you telling me this? I mean, thanks all the same for bringing it to my attention, but you could try to get it repealed as well."

"Everyone worth their salt knows of your crusade against the system, Hermione," he was smirking at her, but it was not as annoyingly smug as she remembered it. "I thought I'd pass the information along and place it on your plate too. I've got less foolhardy guts than you Gryffindors, after all."

"Your children could still suffer the after effects." she pointed out.

"Well, that'd be enough excuse to send their schooling to Europe if I ever have any." Draco said again. Her eyebrows almost shot up to her hairline.

"Your solution to the problem is _running away_?"

His first reflex seemed at the beginning to just affirm it right away, but something made the blond Slytherin hold himself back and just ran a hand through his fine hair. She saw his carefully cultivated air of carelessness fall down a little, piece by piece. "Most of the other purebloods are even worse wimps. I don't know if I could consolidate a strong enough voting bloc in the Wizengamot. Maybe not for at least another twenty years or so."

"You could at least _try_." It was rather hard not to raise her voice at all, but she was quite proud that she had succeeded.

"I don't have a problem, Granger, but that's because my family is still at the higher end of the scale. The purebloods of limited means couldn't be anywhere else—"

"Most muggleborns don't have that kind of funds to throw around either—"

"But they could still go back!" Draco hadn't raised his tone, but there was a surprising intensity in it. There was despair in his eyes. "They have another world they're familiar with to fall back to. They have a second option open for them. Most of us purebloods have known nothing but the wizarding world. If the wizarding world is tearing itself to pieces, a good number of us would go down with the ship because they can't swim."

She was still as annoyed, as angry as before, but she could no longer ignore the echo of pain that she felt. Her voice was softer when she next spoke and more subdued. It didn't have the sarcastic edge she was planning to give.

"Then it's as good time as any to learn how to swim, isn't it?"

He laughed, not that there was anything funny. His voice was tinged with the brightest trace of hysteria. "Not everyone is as talented as you are, Hermione—or have you forgotten how _Wizards_ had dubbed you 'the brightest witch of the war generation?' Not everyone will be able to swim in time. Some, whatever they do, would just end up _sinking_."

'-

* * *

><p>Hermione changed the potion components of her project, trying to reengineer the potion from scratch again. She decided not to settle with being a mere mental presence at all. In the process, she also copied her research notes with the same 'true copy' spell on both her own and Luna's parseltongue notes, then she set up a contract with the goblins of Gringotts to keep one of them with instructions of who to give it to in case of magical accident.<p>

She had just about enough of this mess.

'-

* * *

><p>The war had ended almost two years ago.<p>

Unspeakable Granger moved with a keen sense of purpose in her office-cum-lab. It was one small step for Hermione Granger and one large step for wizardkind. At least that was what she thought after she had just finished bottling her particular travelling potion. Harry had barged in right after she finished bottling her potion, a smug smirk on his face when he saw that he caught up with her just in time, a subtly familiar parchment in hand.

"You don't have to go, Harry." Hermione hissed, trying not to call the attention of other Unspeakables to her office. There was a newly-finished, modified time hourglass the size of a large cat on her table.

Harry grinned at her. It was one she hadn't seen for some time, one that reminded her of Padfoot than anyone else. "Friends don't let friends go on suicidal adventures alone. So, where are you going?"

"There is an observation I want to make about a certain crossroad of history." Hermione said quickly with a straight face. Harry rolled his eyes.

"I didn't ask _what_ you're doing. Maybe I should ask you to _when _you're going, Hermione?"

She sighed and didn't meet his eyes. "It's... it's not important—"

"Now _that_ is an outright lie." Harry muttered. "You've never worked on anything that you don't think to be important. Come on, two heads are better than one."

Realizing that his heroic impulse wasn't going to let this one lie, she stared him down. "I might not be back after some time Harry, or even if we were back immediately at the same moment here, there's a chance we're not going back immediately, that it would be years on the observation location—"

"Hermione—"

"—we don't know how time would have passed on this side. It could be month or years, our friends' life would have gone on; heck, Ginny might even have gone on—"

"_Hermione_" Harry raised a hand to stop her rambling. "Just...to _when_ are you going?"

Hermione wrung her hands. "The 1940s."

Anyone else might be tempted to say something about how she was definitely kidding, but Hermione didn't show him her research notes for nothing. He might not understand the technicalities as they weren't his specialty, but the conceptual framework wasn't lost to him. If anyone could do it, it would be Hermione. Harry stared at her for a moment before nodding very slowly.

"Why?"

A beat. "To see the wizarding world then. To make notes, observations. To observe either Grindelwald's height of power and downfall, or Tom Marvolo Riddle."

"For _observation_, eh?"

She didn't say anything, didn't even as much as blink when she stared him, but her steady, straight back told him that she was actively using occlumency right now—heck, he had already started to pick up her external thoughts. Harry also knew that she wouldn't have broadcasted them so strongly if she wasn't actively running the confounding mazes of her mind's defence. His first clues had been when she stopped renewing her paper, magazine and journal subscriptions. There was something Hermione wasn't telling him, but years of keeping secrets had made him patient. She would tell him when she was ready, and he trusted her to inform him upfront of anything that's actually critical.

He nodded again. "I'm going with you then."

"Didn't you hear anything I just said?" Hermione's voice went up by half an octave.

"I'm... well, me and Ginny thought we'd just live our own lives for now. I could ask the same thing of you, Herm. What about Ron?"

She didn't feel like elaborating it much. She didn't want to think about the last argument they had. She had accused him of not caring about the world at all beyond his own interest, and he pointed out that she had favoured her causes more than him. It really wasn't his fault or hers that they were too different, that the war left a different imprint for each of them… but sometimes she still wished they could have ended it in a more peaceful way. She cleared her throat and banished her memories.

"Same here."

Harry smiled. It felt stronger than most of his smiles that she had seen since he'd become an Auror and she couldn't help smiling back.

"So, I'm just speaking theoretically here. If you think we'd be there for some time, _for observations_, don't you think we need to pack a bit more than what you seem to have right now?" Harry asked as casually as possible, complete with a leaning-against-the-wall and hands-in-trouser-pockets pose. "We could empty our Gringotts account and carry a charmed-weightless, mokeskin bag, you know. You've said it before, there's no such thing as too much preparation, after all."

Hermione rubbed her temples with a resigned sigh and nodded. Her friend only gave an assuring smile in sympathy. Harry was sure she had been too busy making sure that the potion and spell would cause no harm that it hadn't occurred that her gamble may have stranded them in the long-term somewhere. Well, she always kept her grab purse on her person, but it was certain that she hadn't put an all-terrain tent in it, nor enough potion ingredients to last a year. He knew she would certainly care enough about that.

'-

* * *

><p>They ended up taking a whole day to take everything they wanted to take. Hermione almost couldn't hold back from putting <em>everything<em> in her apartment in her 100-galleon, super capacity, mokeskin bag. Everything from her potions lab was stoppered and bottled and inside it. All of the contents of her bookshelves were inside it. There were rolls and rolls of parchment and quick-quote quills as well as normal ones in it too, as well as a dozen biros and some notepads. She didn't put everything in, of course. She still left the kitchen set where it was.

Considering that Harry didn't complain about the length of time she was taking to prepare, she was certain his bag was no less full. He did buy the same bag after all. They met again in her office at the exact same time as yesterday.

"Good. So… ready to go on another adventure now?"

Hermione handed him a bottle of the potion she had brewed. The door to her office opened once more and both of them could only stare as Luna walked in casually with a bag slung over her shoulder and dressed as if she was preparing for a safari in the Russian steppes, fur hat included.

"Just in time." she said breezily. "I was sure I won't be late. Can I have one too? Thank you."

She had taken the bottle from Hermione's outstretched hand while the two earlier arrivals stood stock-still, staring at her in disbelief.

"Right." Luna said. "Now, I think there's something like an incantation and wand movement for this. Could you show us, Hermione?"

"Err, Luna..." Harry started.

Luna shook her head with the same eerie calm she always had. "We have half an hour most to prepare. After that, some people might be looking for you Hermione. In case we leave for too long, I've prepared a timed letter to request a holiday for the three of us because the search for the Crumple-Horned Snorkack waits for no man."

Harry and Hermione exchanged perplexed glances before they turned to Luna again.

"Do you even know what we'd be doing?" Hermione asked.

"I have a vague picture in my pensieve about it." she said, tapping her head while she did so. "Strange dreams and all that. Besides, your magical material request was one of the most interesting documents I've seen to go through the inter-office chutes. Not that anyone would have an idea about it if they don't already know what you're working on. I think your cover research about the scrying pensieve is very good. I've read your report last month."

Luna was waiting for them in the most placid showing of excitement that Harry had ever seen. He could sense the slight tingle in the air around her, though. Her magic was actively leaking out in a buzz of anticipation that sent his skin tingling.

"What... How..."

"I'm also Unspeakable." Luna tapped her chin with her wand, "I have a friend in procurement."

Harry groaned. "If I had known that I could've just asked you when Hermione's not being forthcoming instead of sneaking around trying to sneak around for clues."

"You could still ask me now." Luna volunteered.

"Hey, I resent that! It's only proper if you ask _me_ about my own research." Hermione groused.

"By the way we only have around twenty five minutes left before at least three people will walk in here, so are you _sure_ you don't want to get moving now?" Luna said again.

Hermione instructed everyone on the wandwork, and all three of them walked under the invisibility cloak. Right before Hermione turned the large hourglass on the table, Luna's voice posed a few innocent questions could be heard in the apparently empty room.

"Have you actually tried transporting more than one person at a time, Hermione? And what did you use for that larger hourglass? It looks different than the smaller one you've been using before, and I daresay of a different make and material. Not to mention that tonight's All Hallows—"

There was something that sounded like a bitten-off curse, a muffled 'pop', and all was silent again. One Auror and Two Unspeakables had just disappeared from the face of the earth.

'-

* * *

><p>'-<p>

**(Updated) Author's Note:** As it is, the prologue could stand alone as a one-piece. It turned out that the muses would not leave me alone, so I ended up continuing the story. I have no idea where it goes and what the ending's like, though, so it would be an adventure for both of us.

**Particular Inspirations:**

They're fun stories in their own right, so read ahead if you're interested. That said, I don't claim 100% originality in my fanfiction, just around 70%-ish with stddev of around 30%. Ha. Hey, it's called fanfiction for a reason. We can go higher because we stand on the shoulders of giants. Here goes:

_Altered Destinies_ by _DobbyElfLord_ is the fanfiction that gave me idea that maybe the wizarding world doesn't have any orphanages at all. Oh, it also started my interest in the '40s, for that matter.

_Harry Potter and The Methods of Rationality_ by _LessWrong_ introduced me to the fun to be had from taking the plot of the HP books apart and shoot at the weak points. Luna's heptagons can be considered a tribute.

Some of the best of Harry's AU stories like _Trust is a Relative Thing_ by _Silverfawkes_ as well as Harry's AU time-rewind/time-travelling stories like _His Own Man_ by _Crunchysunrises_ and _What is Right_ by _Emma Lipardi_ made me love the alternate-world-interpretation of the wizarding world as a dystopia instead of the canon utopia. There really is much fun to be had in dystopias.

(To any of the above writers, if I hadn't left a review yet at one or more of stories, that's because I'm bowled over and is speechless right after I finished reading. I will review some time though. Not reviewing a great story that you've actually enjoyed at least once is like incurring a life debt).


	2. 01 Best Laid Plans & Gathering Storm

**01a: Best Laid Plans and Interference**

_In which men can plan and no plan goes through contact with the enemy in one piece._

_'-  
><em>

**December 1939 – Arrivals and Departures**

_- Paris -_

The first thing that Harry noticed was the Headache after all those endless swirls of...formless things: of his hands being the wrong shape; of his head feeling as if it was distributed rather evenly over his body; of being able to see the world with his ears and...generally things Harry would rather not try to recall now. The Headache (yes, he firmly believed it deserved the capitalization) was a combination of having someone hammering his head in repeatedly with a mallet, a dog the size of a Chihuahua gnawing on his hindbrain, and someone with a jackhammer trying to split the top of his skull. That was why the moment his feet found purchase on the ground, he scrambled forward looking for something to grasp, tilt his head to the side and then emptied his stomach on the floor right away. And again. And again.

And several times more even when he was convinced there was nothing else to throw out but his intestines but the gag reflex continued anyway as his eyes watered and sweat rolled off his forehead in giant beads.

It seemed that he wasn't the only one with wishing very hard for painkillers and something to ease his stomach to let up a bit, because he could hear someone else retching not far from where he was standing. It might be two someones, but he might be imagining it the same way he'd thought he saw pink flying elephants a moment before he landed. He couldn't quite trust his senses _yet_. He opened his eyes anyway.

_Why are Hermione and Luna so short?_ He grimaced, rubbing his nose with a smaller hand than he remembered. Oh, and his younger brother, James, seemed fine, the only one who wasn't half as bad as everyone else. _Wait, brother? What brother?_

Harry groaned internally.

_This is what I mean by not believing anything I see yet..._

"Oh dear. It seems that we really shouldn't have tried that experimental portkey, regardless of how fast it could take us _and_ location hop at the same time to avoid detection." A concerned voice sounded somewhere to his left, the person helping him stagger up. It was someone who was surprisingly taller than him. It was a voice he felt he could identify easily and implicitly trusted; it was one he had heard often over many mock-up games of Quidditch.

_Of course it was. That would be Dad, after all_.

A different corner of his brain was about to argue that _that_ was impossible, but couldn't for the life of him remember exactly why. He had grown up with his parents, after all; what was weird with that?

"_It was EXPERIMENTAL? _Charlus! You have_ five seconds_ to explain yourself before I hex you to the Channel for doing that to the children!"

Harry could feel his father cringing beside him. His mother had a wonderful pair of lungs, and any sane man would do well to accede to her wishes than break his eardrums. Another half of his brain was confused as to why he had a mother, _why, I thought I was orphaned since I wasn't even one..._. His father hurriedly handed a reenergizing potion to him and scourgified the floor repeatedly. He downed the potion without a word. As Harry stood up, he could vaguely see the figures of his father facing down his worried mother. He could see an almost-as-pale Luna leaning against her mother, who was trying to sit down on one of the tables too (Aunt Artemis, he mentally noted). Uncle Theophilus's three blond long braids followed every swing of his head—he was watching Harry's parents verbal interaction back and forth like one would watch a tennis match, not sure where he could cut in.

The Grangers (Uncle Benjamin, Aunt Sophia, Hermione, another part of his brain noted) were slumped on the chairs of the nearest table. It seemed that the other person who had vomited their breakfast was Hermione, as she was leaning so far against Aunt Sophia that she was almost horizontal, a hand covering her forehead.

He blinked and wiped his eyes. Luna and Hermione looked _young_. Hogwarts-age sort of young. _Or Beauxbaton-age sort of young_.

Luggages and bags were strewn all around them, and Harry felt he could drop the only bag he was wearing down, just for a while. It seemed that they were in a good restaurant, anyway—the kind that kept its tables of the finest linen, polished parquet flooring and rich leather seats by the walls.

His father ended up handing everyone the potion he had given Harry while his mother apologized to everyone else. No one was going to get to leave Paris anytime soon, he half-mused, before he wondered a second later just what he had been thinking. The maître d' that had just ghosted by seemed to have much experience with sick and miserable travellers that he simply handed the menu to Aunt Artemis without bothering her unnecessarily. He asked if there was anything that their party may have needed immediately, and immediately left with understanding when she told him that they still needed to catch a breath.

Of course Harry wasn't quite sure why he understood the French Aunt Artemis had been using.

"I'm sorry. I thought Charlus had _tested_ the portkey beforehand." Dorea said. Here, she glared at him. Charlus seemed know enough not to say anything at this point. "Harry, do you think you'd be fine enough to go straight to England for now?"

"Well, we're already close to an international floo terminus now." Uncle Theophilus added. "It really won't take long if we go out, cross the muggle terminus into the wizarding one and find the appropriate chimney."

Wait, to England? Why are they going to England? _The adults had been stewing ever since Germany invaded Poland_, a memory popped up in his head. It was one where his father walking back and forth with a pipe in hand while Uncle Benjamin spread newspapers on the pool table in his father's study in their house in _Rue de Morgaine_. Uncle Theophilus was reading something else in Polish and translating it out loud. Uncle Benjamin kept saying that _he knew_ Germany had no good plans for the rest of Europe from what he'd come across in his work. Harry tried to shake the headache that came with the crash of memories._ Wait, what? What? What war? It doesn't seem to be Voldemort... has the Ministry of Magic been attacked? Has Hogwarts been attacked?_

A different part of his brain was confused. _Who's Voldemort? Why Ministry of Magic? You've been in France since you were four! You've met your friends in the British Embassy's magicals' summer party when you were five and that's why your parents knew each other pretty well. You've been going to Beauxbaton up to the second year before the parents decided on moving back! Your father seems to think Grindelwald isn't active, but he found that he couldn't disagree with Uncle Benjamin's assessment of the Germans_.

A different voice echoed in his head. Sights, sounds and sense of Harry washing dishes when he was six, of running outside and avoiding a larger and vindictive cousin up a tree. Of hiding in the muggle school library because he knew his cousin hated reading and that he'd be safe there...

Harry _really_ couldn't help himself from vomiting again (even if there was _nothing_ to vomit but whatever little fluid was left in his stomach), on the nice maroon carpet below him, but he felt too dizzy to care much. He experienced simultaneous memories of him being around seven in two different locations with two different families. He waded through memories of him being eight and holidaying in Nice with his parents and younger brother and swimming with a friendly sea snake all his time there. Memories of him being locked in a cupboard with no friend but despair and darkness. He felt like gritting his teeth and growling, but he didn't have enough power left. _It doesn't bloody make sense! Shut up everyone!_ His mother gently pushed him into one of the seats and gave him something else to drink from. He let his forehead fall on the table without further thought.

"Charlus, Harry's not looking so well" Her voice was calmer than it was before, but somehow infinitely more _dangerous_. "We're staying here until the evening at the very least, until _everyone_ feels better."

"I... think I agree with that, Aunt Dorea," Hermione's weak and strained voice came out somewhere to his far right. Harry didn't try to think too much about it. He didn't think at all as he fell into a tired sleep. "I don't feel so well either."

"I second that." Aunt Sophia's usually stable voice wavered.

"So... what do you say to that, _Charlus?_"

"Yes, dear" Charlus said immediately. "We're staying here, and we'll order food as soon as anyone feels peckish, and we'll wait."

Harry's mother nodded to that. "Excellent. Let's just settle down, then, everyone. Don't hold back from lying down; the seats will extend themselves as needed. We're in an almost private quarter."

Harry was drifting too blissfully into sleep that he didn't really hear what his mother said after that. When he next woke up, his headache was a lot less punishing than it had been, none of his memories were arguing with each other, and he was absolutely _famished_. If he wasn't preserving his table manners, he would've been shovelling food straight into his mouth. His only saving grace was how it seemed that Hermione and Luna weren't that different from him in terms of appetite. Poor young James Ignatius Potter caught the attention of almost all the adults because he was the only kid among the four young witches and wizards who didn't feel like he needed to down a boar or a cow to feel better. The adults were worrying that his travelling sickness was manifesting differently compared to the three others.

Nobody knew better.

'-

_- London -_

It was later that evening when Charlus Potter finally escorted the Grangers to their old London home.

"I don't think I'll _ever_ get over the motion-sickness. I don't know how you magical folks do it."

Benjamin Granger had released his friend's hand the second he landed with his knees on the floor. Before his upset stomach made itself known to him, he ran down to the kitchen of the Grangers' old apartment and threw up in the sink. He looked every inch the distressed academic now, instead of the appearance of a friendly, smiling professor with his curly, light brown hair. Little Hermione had already lain down on the couch from the wooziness she had complained about. His wife, Sophia, looked paler than a bed sheet, sitting on a chair with her eyes closed and a well-formed hand on her forehead.

"Some of us never got used to it at all either." Charlus Potter said after charming himself with a stabilization charm and drinking a bottle of Pepper-up potion, just in case. He was a little better off than the Grangers, as he was their apparator, but he knew from his own experience what being the passenger was like. He and Benjamin met each other when picking up their respective children from Beauxbatons, and had been fast friends since then. "Side-along apparation always feels worse than doing it yourself, anyway. Here, let me help with that."

The wizard went to the kitchen and murmured the same charm he had previously aimed at himself to stabilize Benjamin's sense of balance too and watched his friend stopped gripping the sink and colour returned to his white knuckles.

"What are you going to do about the house in Montmartre?" Charlus asked.

"Sell it, I guess" Benjamin said with another gulp of fresh air. "It's not as if we didn't get it by way of inheritance from Sophia's good old Uncle Gaspard in the first place."

Charlus was slightly surprised. "I thought you'd just close it."

"And who'd look after the place—house elves? I suppose we should floo-in biweekly, then?" Benjamin chuckled. Charlus had the grace to look embarrassed, but his friend only stood up with his usual relaxed attitude and waved it away as if it was nothing. "Really, it's far more practical to sell it. I would've suggested that you do the same if I didn't know that you'd be too inert in your habits to follow my suggestion."

Benjamin wasn't looking at him when he said the last sentence. He seemed to be more... pensive. Charlus didn't think about it much and only nodded.

"That's... rather true," he admitted.

Charlus and his wife had always mingled freely in Paris, because there weren't that many British nationals who'd rather be in the Continent when Grindelwald was known to be out of Britain (Dorea certainly enjoyed being away from her family's absurd pureblood socialization pressures). Their countrymen had certainly only gotten less now that Grindelwald's rumoured muggle puppet announced war. _Not that I have to worry about that anymore_, he thought, _we're back again in England after all, aren't we?_

Charlus went to the living room and cast the same stabilization spell to Sophia and Hermione. Mrs. Granger gave a thankful glance to her friend, but she still felt too weak to move around and stayed sitting where she was. Charlus was drinking a second bottle of pepper-up potion when Benjamin managed to walk into the drawing room.

"Off again, already?"

"I'm sorry that I can't stay around for long. Dorea insisted that everyone travel for Pottersborough right away and open the manor again _immediately_. I'm afraid I'm entirely at her disposal in that case." Charlus said. His perplexed expression told everything. Benjamin wasn't privy to Dorea's thoughts any better, but something lit Sophia's brown eyes and she nodded in understanding.

"_Of course_. I wouldn't want to be in London at all at these times." she said. "Her relatives are going to be _dying_ to swarm her house the moment you arrive."

Charlus' imagination supplied him a vision of uncles, aunts, _grandparents, granduncles and aunts_ from the extended Black and Bulstrode family, all determined to find out whether he had taken care of 'darling Dorea' well, and whether if he's still hanging on to 'his riffraff friends, his nonsensical ideas'. He could feel a major headache coming and thought that he should thank his wife when he met her. He hadn't thought of the consequences of choosing their London house and was glad not to have said anything to Dorea.

"Send our love to Dorea, Harry and James." Sophia said. As he braced himself for another trip across the Channel, Charlus smiled.

"I will."

'-

_- Paris, Pottersborough -_

After his father returned from apparating the Grangers, the Potter family said their goodbyes to the Lovegoods and picked up their luggages as they went to their respective chimneys in one of Paris' International Floo Terminus. Harry did not quite remember which one it was, because when one came to the open fire connections, they were built very similarly; the rows and rows of industrial-grade chimneys in the place with ceilings that were at least three storeys high. The material building each group of chimneys told enough story of the era that it was built. The middle ones were marble, the newer ones on the far ends were of more staid bricks. Some of the even older ones seemed to have been made from hewn stone. Harry and his family ended up going to one of the marble ones—it was of gleaming white stone and had finely carved details and fluted ivies on the corners. Many wizards and witches waiting for their turn. His remaining dizziness stopped him from managing to be able to observe too much, and as such he couldn't quite recall from his fuzzy and uncooperative memory whether this was the Floo Terminus in Saint Lazare or Gare de Lyon or even in d'Orsay. _Not d'Orsay, probably_.

"You don't look so well, Harry." His father's voice was one of concern.

"That's because I'm still _not_, Dad," he muttered. "Thank you very _much_ for that _wonderful_ portkey of yours. I'm sure Hermione and Luna aren't that much better either."

His father looked guilty for one moment, and Harry would've been ashamed of lashing out if he realized what he just said (his father had a good excuse since the new portkey was safer and harder to track, really). Yet his head still felt like a group of monkeys were using it as a percussion instrument and he couldn't think beyond that. Harry didn't let anyone support him or anything, as he still want to preserve what little shred of dignity he had. His movements were automatic since he knew his other luggages had been cared for, and thus tried to concern himself with just grabbing the Floo powder in hand. His mother sent him one more worried look before walking forward into the green flame. His father was waiting for him and his little brother was nowhere to be seen. _Probably went first before Mum_, he decided it was his turn. He threw the powder and walked in; trying not to think too much while he was being twisted and turned in the middle of nowhere.

An intense wave of nausea landed Harry ungracefully on the floor for the second time that day and he staggered away from the grand fireplace in the front parlour before his father landed on top of him. Regardless of how he arrived, it was a _lot_ better than that so-called _experimental portkey_. But the difference was of the degrees between wanting to vomit his guts until they've all fallen out and only having bile rose to his throat, vertigo and not much else. He cursed silently.

_What is it with me and magical transportation, really?_

Harry was sorely tempted to insist to his parents that the next time they went to Paris, he'd prefer the airplane. He definitely would not care for all of his mother's worries that muggle contraptions aren't safe, or how they don't know how to get him on one or any other trivial inconveniences. He knew more of the muggle-world than they do. They could all apparate ahead of him for all he cared. Harry didn't realize that he was lucky he felt so sick he didn't even try to sort out the different voices in his head.

Harry felt a little better to see his father leaning against a wall, looking not too well himself. His hat had fallen since he arrived and his hair was sticking up the same way Harry's did every morning (Harry idly wondered where his own cap was. His mother probably had secured that). Father and son reluctantly trudged out. His father had lifted his wand before Harry could throw up on the foyer and cast a quick charm.

"_Rennervesco Equilibrio!_"

Harry stood a little straighter. His stomach suddenly calm and he remembered enough to mumble a relieved 'thank you' to his father. _Hmm, _that_ does feel better..._

"Don't worry Harry. You just have the Potters' aversion to getting transported. It gets better once you learn to apparate." His father said, casting the same charm over himself.

"You don't look that much better yourself, Dad." Harry muttered. Now that he wasn't half-dead from queasiness, he could see how unhealthy the colour on his father's cheeks was. His father was mostly fine in all the other aspects, though. As such, he was trying to ignore the strange rushing, happy feeling inside him that seems to oddly want to proclaim to the world that he had a living father. _I have parents!_ It yelled. _I have a little brother! I'll kill the next Dark Lord that tries to get them! _ It really didn't make much sense. Why would he want to go head to head with Grindelwald? What did Grindelwald have against his family, anyway? It was all probably the travelling sickness, though he wasn't sure how it was supposed to affect his sanity. _Most people _have_ called you crazy at one point or another anyway; one would've thought you'd be used to it_, another voice commented.

There it is again, he mused, more amused than anything at the thought of how unusual it is to have a voice in his head that actually thinks he's crazy. Maybe that actually meant he was saner than most people? Wait, that didn't make sense...

"Your mother keeps telling me to practice apparating more than one person. I keep trying to avoid that." Charlus Potter muttered, and Harry gave him the slightest smiles.

"Your father would do well to realize that your mother is often right than not."

Harry and his father looked up—Harry with curiosity and Charlus with a sheepish smile. Harry had been feeling bad that he hadn't paid attention to his surroundings. Now that he did, he noticed the spacious entrance hall and the double stairs curving up to their left and right. The lower half of the walls was panelled in rich dark wood. The banisters were made of the same smooth material and it matched the deep maroon of the carpet on the stairs with its rich yellow weaving of plants and flowers. The upstairs curtains seem to be dark green, though, but it matched the red carpet the way leaves and flowers complemented each other.

"Welcome back to Pottersborough, Harry," his mother said with a smile, before giving orders to the house elves (Minky and Morry, he thought) to take their luggage and prepare for tea as well as one very long instruction about dinner.

One part of his brain seems confounded enough to simply stare in disbelief while a different part was whooping in joy.

"Home." Harry managed to breathe out in disbelief as he looked around. Yes, that was what this place was. Home.

He kept thinking that maybe all of this is a dream he would wake up from, something too good to be true for that (freak, weirdo, no-good-kid-of-drunk-parents) orphan Harry. That he would live in a large but miserable house in London that was filled with Dark Arts memorabilia. A different part of his brain stared at the memory in confusion, as he recognized it as Uncle Pollux's London house, _but really, it wasn't that dreary the last time around_... Harry squashed any further thought to stop his brain from arguing with itself again and decided to just run up the stairs and slide down the banisters on impulse. It felt like a very familiar activity. It felt like...

"I'm home!" He yelled.

"Harry!" His mother glared at him. He would've taken her more seriously if it wasn't for the smile she failed to suppress.

His father grinned, carelesly throwing his Twilfit and Tattling cap in the direction of the hat and coat stand. His wife gave him a _look_ for that. He didn't see it because his attention was all for his son.

"Yes, yes you are. Come on; let me race you to the second floor."

"Charlus! You're just egging him on!"

"That's the exact purpose, dear."

"Charlus!"

'-

_- Unknown and Unspecified Place and Time -_

Hermione shook her head and tried to clear the fog there. She couldn't quite remember what she had been doing. Hadn't she been working on some experiment at work? Making good use of her Level 5 Unspeakable Clearance to get her hands on unresearched magical artefacts? She was doing it all for a certain purpose, but Hermione couldn't quite remember _what_. _Well,_ she mused, _best that I go out of bed first and start my day than dawdle for too long_.

She threw her legs over the side of her bed, but realized that she wasn't in bed. She was sitting on her desk in her office in the Department of Mystery. Her cauldron was exactly where she had left it, her cabinets and bookshelves where she remembered, though everything little blurred around the edges. The other aspect maybe how she was certain her office hadn't been this large before and wasn't built in the open Roman style complete with columns and arches. Five metres away from her, a calming pool started and continued a little farther under an open sky. She could spy second floor balconies around it. It was as if her office was placed in one corner of a large Roman bath house.

_This... this isn't office, is it?_

Her memory was surprisingly fuzzy and not being very helpful right now. It made her feel marginally better to see Harry sitting on the water's edge with a stylus and a wax tablet. Somehow the fact that he was wearing a purple-lined toga didn't faze her in the least—it was not as if her attire was much different, and she felt entirely at ease with it to even notice. Hermione thought she could see splashes in the pool and saw a blonde head surfacing and disappearing from time to time. _Luna?_

She guessed correctly as the Ravenclaw witch was soon swimming to the edge.

_Hello, Hermione. We've been waiting for you_.

That was a surprise. She didn't remember keeping any appointment. She was sure she would've remembered it if she had to meet someone at the baths instead of the forums. _You have?_

_That's what they said_, Harry added. _You were the one whose intention laid the groundwork for the wand movements. You were the one who chose the right ingredients to complement your purpose in making the potion in your project. So our presence is tied to yours and that's why we have to wait. _

_Who are they?_

Both of her friends were spared from answering as Hermione could see two figures walking down to her. One was a man with a curly head of hair, and the other one was a woman with a bouquet of flowers in her hand of various colours. Hermione noticed that all of them were poppies, though.

_Greetings again, Travellers, especially to you, Hermione Granger. We are here to assure you that you have travelled well and you have no need to worry about it_.

Luna pulled herself out of the pool, and Hermione began to see snatches of memories in the water; of her learning to ride the bicycle by the Seine; of meeting Harry and Luna and feeling glad that there were people she could speak English with; of her family beaming with excitement when she received her Beauxbaton letter. She could see Harry playing with his younger brother, and Harry receiving his first broom. She could see Luna standing in the acropolis with her parents as Aunt Artemis showed her which stone to press to open a series of stairs leading down into the cliffs—Luna had shown her the memories later, after the holiday.

She also remembered she was a Hogwarts student who had never been in Beauxbaton. She remembered that Luna was in the year _below_ her and Harry, not _with_ them.

_Those things never happened_, Hermione said. Her head was oddly non-painful with two sets of memories. She suspected it might have something to do with how she wasn't exactly awake now. _I grew up in England_.

Did she? Wait, why did she even have to doubt herself about this?

The man shook his head. _That is you, and this is also you. You need to stop making these useless distinctions of separating the memories. They're all real and true_.

_We've just gone back to England from France_, Harry said in confusion.

The woman nodded. _Yes, your families had just done that. It is the best point for entry. You would be moving to a new country and it would give you time to get you used to this life_.

_My new life_, Hermione said in a daze. _But why can't I remember being in Hogwarts, fighting against Voldemort and working as an Unspeakable all this time? Why have I only remembered it now? Harry, did you remember anything awake? How about you, Luna?_

Harry shook his head, his gaze lost in some unseen middle distance.

The woman shook her head. She was giving each of them a bundle of poppies and they absentmindedly accepted her gifts.

_No, not your new life. Your life. It has always been yours or you will not be able to travel and enter here at all. This is why we have to lock most of your other memories away and only let them surface as necessity calls. For you will tear your life unnecessarily over it and over things you call 'fated' and 'not'._ She stared at the three of them, her gaze solemn. The man beside her spoke up (Are they siblings? Hermione mused).

_Forget what you wizards think you know about travelling through my realm. It is only true under minuscule travels. What ruling governs the microcosm is not necessarily the same as the macrocosm._

_But we need our memories!_ Hermione insisted.

_You will have them, when you stop looking in your current life as you had in your old. You will not be able to read all of your old mind before you can conquer your outdated preconceptions. It is not I who will stop you but your own self. _The woman replied with surprising vigour and vehemence. _Because those memories you are so desperate to hold has always been, and will always be with you in your unconscious_.

_We will remember anything we want once we accept the reality?_ Luna was the one who asked the question this time. Hermione noticed that her hair was braided in interesting ways, though perhaps still more experimental compared to how the well-to-do of Athens kept theirs.

_What is it that you call the reality?_ Hermione asked.

_This life is not a reflection of your other. It is not a mere extension_, the man said. _You can only make changes while living, not meddling, and you can't live if you're tied so much by your pasts_.

_That's not very helpful or clear, you know_, Harry glanced between their two strange hosts with an annoyed look. If anyone knew anything about unhelpful hints and prophecies, it had to be Harry.

_Don't try to change the present based on what you know of people in the future! People can still change._ Colour spread on his cheeks as he said that. His air, the tension on his frame suggested that he would like to shake any one of them by the shoulders and he was holding himself back. Perhaps there were words he dearly wanted to say and _can't_. There was something odd about his black eyes. Perhaps it was because Hermione could see stars in it. Perhaps it was because she had only noticed that it was completely black with no whites in it. She wondered why she wasn't any more surprised about it—as if it was completely expected. As if she couldn't imagine him seeing everything that he saw now, in every now and even the ones that aren't hers, without it.

_Change it, because you believe that is the best path you can walk on. That is the only way to live a life, to not make an even worse mess of your meddling!_

_Who are you?_ Hermione asked. The woman smiled, warmer than she had before. Hermione could taste truth in the air along with a scent of honeysuckle and warm lazy summers by the golden sands of the Mediterranean.

_Mnemosyne_.

'-

''-

**01b: The Gathering Storm **

'-**  
><strong>

**January 1940**

_- Wapping, St. Catchpole – A Party of Three for Tea -  
><em>

It was just a day after they've arrived in England, but really, they've been missing each other's company already. When Artemis Lovegood sent the invitations to her friends, it was no surprise that the answer was prompt. The circular blue drawing room of the Lovegoods' Tower was soon hosting three women and a set of fine china whose enamelled clouds entirely failed to sit still. The tables were simple and white, as to not distract from the main feature of the room. The windows were interspersed with Grecian columns, but other than that they provided a full panoramic view outside.

The women having tea complemented each other in a most interesting way. Dorea Potter held her thick black hair up in a sophisticated style, eyes as dark as night and no less secretive while her smile had a raw force to it like the witches of old. Where Dorea was dark, Artemis Lovegood was as light and ethereal as witches came, with feathery blonde hair held up in what seemed to be a careless knot and yet had survived the whole day without needing to be redone. Sophia Granger was balanced between their extremes; her smile was as warm and inviting as her hazel eyes. The tight curls of her brown hair in a practical bun reminded Dorea of Demeter than anything else; sensible and grounded, she was an earthly beauty.

"I've received an owl that says Hogwarts can't accept children mid-year. I thought, 'why not?' Michaelmas would've ended now and the next term wouldn't have started yet. That was how it was in Cambridge." Sophia complained. She was stirring her tea rather viciously, but somehow still managing not to spill even a drop. Dorea was the first to reply before Artemis said anything—and Artemis had always been the good listener when the other two had one complaint after another about anything.

"Because they can't be bothered to help new students up to speed." Dorea said, clearly passionate about the issue. "Oh, I _know_ your daughter would be able to keep up nonetheless. The children only needed a list of reading material. They're smart, and as long as we can help with any question they have, they'll master it in no time when the teacher is knowledgeable and compelling. Dippet is simply not used to acknowledging that people outside the school may have bright ideas too."

"He's just too old fashioned. He was already at Hogwarts when my grandparents were there." Artemis added softly, trying to temper her friends' annoyance. Her friends had never seen the blonde witch to be discomposed in any situation.

"So let's prove him wrong." Dorea said her gaze burned with a fire they were very familiar with; one that always made Charlus stare at her in a most dazed expression. "My family had always had a long tradition of teaching the children many things before they went to Hogwarts, and still do even after that. There are times when Hogwarts just simply happen to not have the best teacher for a certain subject. I volunteer to teach our children enough to last them to their fourth year."

The other two women glanced at each other before Artemis smiled and Sophia chuckled.

"There are three of us, you know. We could _all_ teach our children. I'm sure neither you nor I would like to teach Divination or Runes." The ever-sensible Sophia said to the dark-haired witch. Dorea had always been ready to go up in arms first against anything standing in her way, and somehow asking for help never occurred to her. "Even if I'm only free on Saturday and Sundays, I'm sure we could manage something."

"You have to admit that were she a witch, she'd be a far better Arithmancer than you would. I'd love to ask her to teach Luna the mechanics, even if she wouldn't be able to do the application and all the required wandwork." Artemis said, to which Sophia took a sip out of her cup to hide the blush on her cheeks.

Dorea had never envied the way Sophia had always been proud of her work in the Foreign Office, or how Artemis enjoyed being a dedicated correspondence to _Le Magicien du Monde_—she couldn't quite imagine herself in their shoes, as she had never seen any of her relatives live anything other than a life centred at home. Yet when Artemis (always the one with the craziest ideas) started talking about Arithmancy to Sophia to compare notes with how the muggles do it, she was surprised to see Sophia soaking everything like a sponge and even managing to guess specializations that Artemis had yet to explain, just by extrapolating from the ones she had heard of already. If Dorea Potter nee Black was ever insecure (not that she ever would as a Black heiress), and had to choose one thing she would be envious of, it would be of Sophia's mind.

Dorea didn't even have to think about it when her smile lit up her eyes. Between the three of them, and even the boys at times, their children would be _fine_.

"That sounds like an excellent idea."

'-

_- London – The Grangers -_

It was three days after they've arrived in London. Hermione remembered that the dining table had been a family heirloom that her grandmother (and mother, after Grand'Mere died) had always been proud about. The surface was made of one solid block of hard wood and because of that it always needed at least three grown men to move it around due to its weight. She remembered her mother showing her a picture of four-year-old Hermione playing house under it with a blanket thrown over the table to turn it into a makeshift tent. She felt safe then.

Of course back then it was in broad daylight instead of the middle of the night. Back then, the glimpses of the world beyond the curtains of her window was not lit up in a varied wash of oranges and red over torn skies. One explosion after another brightened the skyline and smoke rose up in the air. Back then, her parents weren't sitting at her sides and holding on to her as if they were all trying hard to not drown. She could feel her father's tension and her mother's occasional shiver and it all felt so _wrong_. Her parents weren't supposed to feel this vulnerable, this afraid. _There's no dark mark in the sky_, a faint voice in her head murmured strangely, though not entirely unfamiliar. _Though I suppose in every age there is its own evil_.

"It'll be alright." her father had said, "We're still at the edge of London."

But her father wasn't even looking at her when he said this. He was staring out too, at the unknown hell that had somehow unfolded beyond their ken in the city that was supposed to be their home.

"Of course it will be alright, Ben."

The sentence hung between them like an uninvited guest in a family funeral. Her father gave her mother a thin smile and Hermione wished she could say something. She couldn't. Another explosion caught their attention, rattling the glasses, and the words stuck on her throat like unshelled chestnut.

'-

It was strange to wake up under the table in the morning with her parents. The silence was good—the sound of the air raid siren was getting on her nerves enough. This hadn't been as fun as she thought it would be all those years ago. A corner of her child's mind felt the world was no longer fun and games once the adults think it was a good idea to hide too. The Granger part of her head simply admonished her for worrying unnecessarily, and assured her that if their parents are not safe, she will certainly read enough books to find out how to fix it. Hermione Granger firmly believed that she could fix _everything_, given the right books and tools. _Give me a large enough lever and I can move the world_, Hermione thought. Thinking about that at least stopped her mind from going back to visions of fires and hell. She half-wondered why she seemed to have so many memories of things burning up and flames of various colour and heat in her mind, but Hermione chalked it up to the strength of her imagination.

Her father stretched while her mother covered a yawn.

"I don't know about you, but I'm getting her to Artemis and Theo's place." her mother had said. Her father was halfway to nodding before he stopped himself and turned to her.

"What do you think, Hermione? Do you mind staying in Luna's place until school starts? We can still visit every weekend."

Hermione didn't want to have to face what they'd seen every night, but she didn't want to leave her parents alone to face _that_ either. She couldn't say no, because she had no reason to and it would only sound silly to her parents. But she really, really didn't want to lose them. _Not again and definitely not in another war, _that odd voice said again in her head. _We have to do something before they start acting all heroic and sacrificing_.

"What about you?" Hermione said as she looked back and forth between her parents. "You're not safe here either, are you? I don't want to leave without thinking over this first."

"Come on, let's have breakfast first." Her mother said, not answering her questions. A pit of dread gaped in Hermione's stomach as she wondered if she'd see her parents again.

"You're leaving too, aren't you? Don't tell me you both plan on staying here?"

Both of her parents gave her no answer, and the silence stretched like a shroud between them. For once, she wished she was hearing the siren again instead.

'-

_- Wapping, St. Catchpole – Of Moves -_

"Is everyone alright?"

Theophilus Lovegood's concerned voice was the first one heard as the Grangers exited the living room floo—his glasses had drooped down his nose so far that it was a miracle that it hadn't fallen off yet. Both Benjamin and Sophia gave him a tired smile and a general nod, hopefully all-encompassing and without a need for other explanation at all. Neither had enough mental fortitude to go to the details, and the walk to the nearest floo station was depressing enough as it is. Since they had yet to install a floo connection in their current house, there was little to choice but to go out and brave the view of newly destroyed buildings, the dazed people not quite comprehending what had happened to their homes while they were sheltering away, and the worse part were the hysterical sounds of those with dead loved ones. Neither Grangers spoke much to each other on the journey, but they hurried their footsteps all the same, as they each called out the address to Lovegood Tower.

Hermione had arrived with almost as much luggage as she had when she came from France, though the fact that both of them were magical helped a lot. Theophilus had helped them settle down. On his table were various newspapers, some in French and others in Dutch and German. Artemis looked up from the article she was writing, her blonde hair charmingly mussed.

"Sophia and I won't be here for long. We're here to ask, you know... if you could shelter Hermione for a while? I don't think I'd feel comfortable having her in London when our house could've burned down any time. You know the jerries are bombarding the city, right?"

"Bombarding the city? I can't even imagine..." Sophia had never seen Theo that pale—and the blond wizard was already chalky most of the time. Artemis's patient tones could be heard as she commented about how her husband really should start reading the British newspapers before the European ones now. A moment later, he seemed determined instead. He asked them to please make themselves comfortable and walked out of the room. Luna followed him when he returned not long after that, along with a floating tea service. Luna sat down while Artemis and Theo laid out tea on the table.

"What is this news of fires that I've heard so far?" Artemis asked. Her husband answered that.

"It's just... London. Here, perhaps you need to see the papers. I didn't know it was going to be this bad either."

Artemis only needed to glance twice or thrice at the newspaper he handed to realize she didn't really want to know the details. She had seen what she wanted to know and it was already enough to distress her that morning.

"Wouldn't you both stay here as well? I don't like the idea that you'd be risking your life and limb when you could be quite safe here. They don't send those flying death-traps that far out here where we're only visibly green fields."

"But we really need to—"

"—work. In Buckinghamshire", Benjamin finished, stopping any flow of detail his wife might say. Her eyes lingered his way, but she noticed what he was doing and closed her mouth. He chose his next words carefully. "You out of all people have an idea of what I do, Theo. I can't leave that. I have to—"

"Oh for goodness' sake, there's the _floo_." Artemis insisted. "You could go to the closest floo destination to your offices every morning. You could go _anywhere_ around London—I'm sure I could show you the map of the floo chimneys for London and you could choose which one is more convenient. It's nearly instantaneous that I'm sure you'd never be running late. It's not as if you need magic to be able to use them. I'm sure I have rings that can help you get past some of the basic muggle-confounding charms to reach them. Then again, we don't have your eclectics—"

"Electronics." Hermione said. The reply was absentminded, and Sophia only noticed how her daughter seems distracted.

"— in our home, not even a radio, so you might be very bored..."

"We won't mind." Hermione said out loud, surprising the adults who had forgotten that she and Luna were still waiting while the adults fret. She used her sweetest voice and her best smile. "You have a lot of books and there's a wonderful meadow a little ways away from here. Luna said that she'd seen many fishes in them. I'm sure it wouldn't take so long for us to pack things up since we haven't really unpacked completely—don't you think so Mum, Dad?"

"We have spare bedrooms." Luna added. "There are five unused right now. All of them have bookshelves."

Benjamin and Sophia could only stare at each other in surprise, and realized that their daughter had them right where she wanted.

'-

_- Wapping, St. Catchpole – Of Information Passed on by Benjamin Granger -_

Theophilus Lovegood was standing one valley away from the Lovegood Tower, in robes that were deepest azure with yellow stars of various sizes scattered on it. It was rather difficult to determine whether his clothes were so outdated in style (not much farther than middle ages), or whether he was so visionary he had pre-empted the psychedelic 1970s in essence and colour. It may have something to do with how he picked it up from the rejected, already harmless item in the 'time accidents' sub-division of the Unspeakables. Around his neck hung an omnicular.

He had been standing there in the last ten minutes, completely comfortable with warming charms permanently placed on his clothing. His long hair that he kept in three braids sometimes scattered about in the wind. Anyone else might be tempted to cast another 'Tempus' charm and see what time it was already, but he simply stood there and stared at the sky and the larger clumps of trees farther away (calling them 'forest' was a bit pushing it) as if it had been his purpose all this time. He was humming disjointed tunes from a smattering of eras, and the loud 'pop' beside him as well as the newly arriving wizard did nothing to stop his humming. He stopped tapping his wand to his thigh, though.

"That took you some time, Charlus."

The smartly dressed wizard beside him only tugged on his cravat slightly at that, unconsciously smoothing his already dapper appearance the way he only did when something occupied his mind. "Well, I had to make excuses first. You were asking me to leave straight away when I'm in the middle of an ongoing game. It would be rather unfair if I left while my cards had been favourable so far."

Theo raised an eyebrow at that. "What, you actually deign to lose a game after that? I'd sooner believe that you emptied everyone else's pockets instead."

Charlus laughed. "No, no. I wasn't that cruel. I know exactly how much they have left after playing with them all this time. Still, I needed a smoother exit and not give the impression of an emergency. It also took some time to locate the omniculars you insist me on bringing."

Theo nodded, and humour seemed to have left his face. His blue eyes did not look open.

"Your discretion is still commendable, I see."

He didn't look exactly disturbed; his expression was more akin to caution. The dark-haired wizard next to him noticed it, though. "So what brought this on? You mentioned something urgent based on what Benjamin told you, but nothing more substantial."

"It's something that crossed my mind ever since he told me about the bombings muggle London has been under. I started reading the muggle papers after that."

"Right, but what concern is that of us?"

Theo snorted. "How many times have you asked me to be your lookout in Hogwarts?"

"Often enough, whenever I wish to outprank my housemates. They didn't even think I'd have other eyes and ears outside Gryffindor."

"And you trust the intelligence I could give you, right?"

"Well, more like I trust the interesting applications of charms that you can come up with."

Usually, Theo would smile softly, in that unassuming way he always did (and not in the bragging way that Charlus would in the same position). This time, his face barely changed. If it was even possible, he spoke quieter.

"Then I hope you could trust what I'm about to show you."

Theophilus said nothing further as he walked forward slightly, wand in hand. Charlus followed him out of curiosity. Theo waved his disillusionment charm over the area away, and a scraggly and battered looking cottage was suddenly visible on the field of grass.

"You've suddenly decided to expand your tower to something more house-shaped?" Charlus asked.

The blond wizard shook his head at that and rubbed his thin beard. "No. It's a house that's been on the market for years in St. Catchpole until it fell into disrepair. I bought it at fire sale prices and had it moved here. I thought it would be more fitting to use a real house for this experiment."

Theo seemed to be considering something, and he threw a couple of pebbles towards it. He enlargened the pebbles and transfigured them into rough imitations of the cottage. Where once one there was one rather ugly cottage, now there were five of them clustered together. He seemed dissatisfied and added six more to cluster outside the first group.

"You see the eleven cottages, right?" Theo asked, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. Charlus didn't quite see the point yet, but he nodded.

"Yes? You know, the transfiguration isn't going to hold for long, for something that size." _And rather a waste of energy, to change something that would revert back soon enough_, he thought.

Theo shrugged. "It doesn't need to last more than ten minutes. Now, I'm going to release the stasis charm I placed on a certain object that reached my hands with Benjamin's help. It's inside the first house. I will add a simple heating charm to it, with your dear wife's modifications."

Now that intrigued Charlus. "Dorea's modifications?"

"The main difference is, I can continue channelling energy into it after the first casting and continue to increase the target temperature. Artemis showed me how to do it, but let's not go into the details for now. After this I'm going to send the second set of objects in and overheat that too. Let's just call it Package Two for now." Theo said with a quick wave of his hand. He was still staring at the cottages with a distracted look, and only years of acquaintance told Charlus that he was vaguely concerned about something. "You understood all that, and that I didn't do anything else to the environment or the object?"

"Right, this object is in the middle house, you will release it from stasis and you will overheat it. You send the next objects in, and you overheat that too. Is that all? You're just playing an open-air oven in the field? Should I get some loaf to bake?"

"Hardly," Theo replied, but he didn't react to Charlus' joking tone as he lost himself in thought for a while or two. His continued wordless waiting wound up worrying his friend, but Theo had picked the conversation again before Charlus had time to say anything else.

"Your understanding is perfectly acceptable, Charlus. Now, let's get back up the hill and, _watch_. I've done this before, but I would like to be able to do it again with you to see it."

After seeing his friend apparate away already, Charlus followed suit, even as he was glancing back at the construction in the middle of the valley. With a pop, he reappeared next to Theo. Now, the two wizards were back on top of the hill, just outside Lovegood tower. The cottages looked like playthings from here instead of man-sized dwellings.

"Can you conjure a sound bubble around us? Don't block out everything, just one that would block anything comparable to a banshee's wail or a siren's song outside." Theo said. If Charlus found his friend's request as strange, it didn't stop him from doing it still, his curiosity increasing even more.

Theo raised a hand, his flexible birch wand in his left hand, cutting through the air as he first cast a simple _finite_. He continued his wand movements without even a moment's pause into what started as a basic heating charm and ended as something else and held his hand's position then. The Lovegood wizard had the patience and focus that had always been good for fine-tuning things from a distance. Charlus could feel the faintest flicker of energy his friend was channeling, but it was small enough and he noticed it no more after another moment. Theo was staring at the cottages with an intensity that was disproportionate if it was only to ensure the spell went off without a hitch.

Then Theo stopped and picked up his omnicular; Charlus did more or less the same thing.

Theo's attention was very much explained when the cottages exploded in a loud explosion as roofs were blown away and walls knocked down. He could see a fireball rising up from where the centre cottage had been, and the cottage itself was nowhere to be seen. It was simply...gone, not flattened, because there were no remnants that could give a clue of anything ever being there. Charlus blinked. He didn't have time to think about how that had happened when he saw an invisible force rippling the grass outward and _fast_. The sound bubble's muffling ability activated around them soon enough, but it didn't last when the airborne shockwave hit them and he stepped back in surprise. Theo did the same and had the same wide-eyed expression that he did; it felt as if a _djinn_ had beaten a house-sized drum within their close proximity and their chest thrummed with it. Within one second of that, a rumble passed the ground under their feet; that unbalanced him a little, as if the same djinn had dropped that drum nearby and shook the earth in a small quake.

Charlus and Theophilus was still staring at each other in disbelief when Theo looked up and groaned.

"Shields up, Charlus! Use your maximum physical shield!" Theo himself cast it not long after that.

Charlus followed by reflex, but couldn't resist asking even as he raised his head to see whatever it is that Theo had seen. "What's wrong?"

Theo didn't even bothered to answer that as smaller debris from the houses rained on them, making audible knocking sounds overhead. Larger house fragments turned parts of their transparent shield reddish, a sign that it was straining. Theo sighed as he picked up the second package on the ground and apparated farther, even closer to his house, and Charlus followed.

"Right. Time for the next one. Benjamin said to aim rather loosely because the purpose isn't to place it at the exact place of the first one. He said it would be a waste of effort, and I hadn't understood what he meant by it then," Theo sounded a little rueful as he gazed to the practically nonexistant first house. Charlus had to agree there.

He heard two pops from his side in close succession; it would seem that Theo had apparated his other package in and went back. His friend raised his left hand again and started the movements to the modified heating charm he had seen him use earlier. Stray blades of grass continue to drift down from the sky on them; it seemed that not everything that was blown away had fallen down yet. He conjured a thin but wide shield, just enough to keep the dust and smaller debris still settling from coating them.

Charlus lifted his omnicular, and turned his attention back to the ruins. He could see the metallic cylinder that his friend had dropped in at one of the cottages to the right of the first one; it glowed red as the heating charm continued. As it glowed brighter, pieces of the metal melted away, dropping to the torn planks on the floor and hitting wooden support beams. Small sparks became large ones, coaxing fire into life. Small burns crackled to life at different points and joined together in their merry destructive dance. Large tongues of flames blossomed, and the targeted cottage was soon engulfed in the mini inferno. He could clearly see the cottages consumed now by the growing conflagration that kept expanding, and he was sure that in the precious moments needeed to call for help the fire would have taken down a cluster of building or an entire block of them. The instant destruction experienced by the first cottage was still on his mind. The grass beyond the building cluster was scorched. If there had been anyone inside any of them when the explosion happened, Charlus wasn't sure if they could've survived, even if they'd apparated directly to St. Mungo's emergency ward.

Charlus stopped fiddling with his cuffs completely, watching instead in silence as fire tore the buildings down. Even if he knew these inadequate hovels weren't really anyone's home, and that they would disappear within another five minutes, the way they went up in flames so quickly gave him pause. It was just...inconceivable. The two men stood side-by-side in silence for a while. Charlus was still surprised while Theo was unreadable—his lips did not form his usual smile but a tight line.

Theo finally spoke up again, his voice oddly neutral. Behind it, there was the vaguest sense of... pain? Defeat?

"No ward is going to withstand that force, Charlus." Theo said first. He held himself back for another moment, steadying his thoughts.

"I asked Artemis to prop the first cottage with a series of basic wards that people usually put in their houses in the cities; anti-theft, anti-intrusion, heck, she even added anti-beast and the minor form of anti-looting that one could expect to see on all stores in Diagon Alley at the very least. You saw what good _that_ does them."

Charlus was still staring at a bedroom of one of the peripheral cottages that had been torn down. He could see very well that it had a burning crib. It may have something to do with a half-burnt stuffed toy beside it. It was a morose looking bear just like one that James had.

"Charlus?" Theo called, waving his hand in front of his friend's omnicular. "Charlus?"

"What? I'm fine."

Theo did not seem like he believed it at all, but he said nothing. Instead, he simply waited for Charlus to finish staring. His colour had yet to return to what it was before the destruction took him by surprise.

"What... what is _that_, Theo?"

Theo took a deep breath again. "That is what the muggles call a _bomb_, Charlus. That's what they're dropping from the skies, and believe me, a notice-me-not charm isn't going to help anyone who happened to be living in a targeted city. They drop them indiscriminately. If they're actually aiming at locations that just happen to be next to some wizarding establishment, you can bet that the fire and blast wouldn't discriminate at all once it's set off. It has no intelligence that magic can fool, it simply _destroys_."

"We've got to warn everyone. Nobody had been expecting the muggles to be capable of anything of this magnitude." Charlus muttered. He had begun to pace, and Theo was watching him carefully, as if wondering is his friend was about to do something rash or stupid.

"I think we need to tell your father about this." Theo said.

"What?"

Theo tilted his head to one side—an unconscious habit his daughter seemed to have picked up from him too. "Geoffrey Potter, Director of the DMLE? This is an issue that needs to be addressed rapidly. We need to cut through the bureaucracy and aim for the relevant leaders. Otherwise, the news would reach them much too late; certainly far later than is prudent. Your father would surely be able to reach the ear of the Minister in time."

"But that's not enough!"

"I agree with you there." Theo nodded, staying calm and ignoring Charlus' surprised expression. "We've got to get everyone to follow Coventry and Birmingham's methods quickly even before the Ministry decides on any action. Any time lost could possibly mean lives lost. This is even more pertinent for a wizarding section as large as Diagon and Knockturn."

"What?"

This time, it was more than mild exasperation that crossed Theophilus' face as he threw his hands and marched back towards Charlus. He did not raise his voice, but some of his inflections became pointed. "Oh for the love of—does no one _really_ notice what's going on outside London? Don't tell me you've only been reading the Prophet?"

"I did read of the fires there, and the admirable actions of the firemen that prevented further loss of lives."

Theo's brows furrowed. "That may indeed be true, but did you _not_ notice what caused them? It's these attacks on the muggles cities!"

"Accidental damage, they say—"

"Accidental on _Merlin's arse,_" Theo pronounced each words clearly and with prejudice, staring his friend down. Charlus had unconsciously took a step back and raised his hands in a peace-keeping gesture.

He had never really seen the usually placid Ravenclaw this furious as Theo clenched and unclenched both of his fists. "It's what I've been talking about. This is the level of damage that Benjamin had pointed out and why he told me how I can get some of these _bombs_! _We cannot ward against them, Charlus_. To sit still is to be sitting ducks in hunting season! I can't believe nobody has been paying attention to the letters of recommended action that both cities have been sending to the Ministry. The enclaves in the other cities will have to go underground, Charlus."

"Underground? Like one story or two?"

"No. Like _the shallowest goblin vault_ level of underground. You can find no wizard dwelling in Coventry that is less than ten metres below the earth." Theo said, his anger evaporating quickly as only concern and perhaps sorrow was left once more. His voice was soft now.

"I'm not taking any risks about this. We could easily place magical windows that lead to the surface, and paint the ceiling to show the actual skies, create channels to ensure that the place is well ventilated and the air stays fresh—it wouldn't be too bad, really. Not if you've seen what some of the crude underground hideouts that the muggles had made. Entrance would be limited to floo and maybe some sort of goblin rail network, because we can't risk the possibility that someone may apparate into the surrounding earth."

Charlus winced at the thought, but he could see that it was probably going to happen to one or two young wizards or witches who had only just received their apparation license with yet enough practice.

"So we need a plan, then." Charlus finally said. "My father, yes, but I'm thinking more in terms of a small private party to disseminate the knowledge faster and to more influential people."

Theophilus nodded. "That sounds like a good idea."

"And while we do that, we will talk to the heads of the merchant guilds of Diagon Alley and tell them what other cities have been doing and _in detail_. We would probably need to come into contact with the Goblin Nation through Gringotts."

"And I'm beginning to think we need another wizarding newspaper out there, something that isn't the rag that the Prophet is." Theophilus mused. "People wouldn't have been so placid if they knew the kind of danger that's out there."

"They might panic unnecessarily instead, you know." Charlus pointed out—he had rarely trusted the masses to do the right thing. He'd always thought that the only thing you could rely from them was to form a mob. It was probably a side-effect of growing up as a scion of a Noble and Ancient House. Theo gave him a sceptical look.

"And how is doing nothing while these fire instruments of destruction are dropped over their heads a better course of action?"

Charlus sighed. "No, it's not better at all. Yes, I can see what you mean, but still... I think we need to be able to forward all these knowledge to the government first and tell them we'd publish it within a day or two. At least some people wouldn't stupidly try to deny everything, and it would get the planners in there an excuse to start _doing_ something. Yes, I think another newspaper is a good idea."

The blond wizard looked more determined now. "See?"

Charlus only shrugged. "As long as you keep your unseen creatures out of it and the conspiracy theories, I'm sure it would do fine."

Theophilus' expression channelled his conviction. Charlus, was doing his best to keep his face neutral.

"The creatures are _not_ unseen. They are merely unspottable all this time. There is still the possibility that Grindelwald is the Heir of Slytherin."

Charlus only raised a sceptical eyebrow at his friend, one that clearly said '_Did you even listen to what you're saying?_' Theo sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"_Fine_. I admit that the public may not be prepared for certain leaps of faith, Charlus."

"As I am a good friend of yours, I will refrain from saying anything but this for now; stick to the news you can confirm at least twice, Theo, and you'd do well indeed."

'-

_- London – The Private Lessons -_

It was Harry's family's London address, but the house hadn't been opened at all. He had only gone here to pick Hermione and Luna up when they flooed in, and inform them each of how to reach Pottersborough's floo connection. White sheets covered most of the furniture, and the house elves were so bored they had pleaded and begged him to allow them to make him breakfast, or some _snack_ at the very least. They were threatening to rewrite history with the existence of two more additional teatimes during the day if he didn't comply, and Harry knew when it was appropriate to lose graciously before other magical household in London received those extra teatimes as well.

Hermione and Luna had arrived together from Lovegood Tower. His muggleborn friend was still not used to house-elves, even after going to Beauxbaton, but after Harry pointed out some time before that they would _die_ if they didn't bond themselves to a stronger magic user (wizard or witches, most of the time), she was a lot less reactionary to their presence. She'd contented herself with learning more about them and criticizing their abuse and insistence for more humane treatment. For now.

"The address is 'Potter Manor'" Harry told them. He hadn't even gotten any floo powder out as he was still enjoying the Welsh rarebit that Mimsy had made for her young master and his friends. Luna commented that floo address was so staid as to be uninteresting. Harry said that while his Dad would _love_ to change it to 'Charlus' Haven on Earth' or something as tacky his mother had told him to stop being silly or _else_. Harry was still curious about the _else_.

"I still can't believe your mother is going to teach us, Harry!" Harry winced. In her excitement, Hermione had squealed at a frequency Harry was certain _should not_ have been audible to his ears.

"Frankly, I don't know why you're so excited." Harry muttered and rubbed his ears.

"Because she's one of England's best female duellists." Luna replied. "My mother said she held the record for the highest NEWTS Charms score in Hogwarts in a hundred years. Mum also thinks she's one of the best duellist in England, period. She said she could name the wizards that still have a chance of beating Aunt Dorea in a fight on the fingers of one hand."

Hermione muttered something about sexist standards before her good mood bubbled up again and she continued. "If we're going to learn from her, we'd be more than ready to take on Hogwarts. You don't know how lucky we are, Harry. _There's no such thing as too much preparation._"

Harry felt a twinge of something at the back of his head, the vaguest sense of déjà vu he could not name. Where had he heard that before? Why did he seem to remember practising duelling with his friends? _From before_, a different voice that somehow still sounded like his replied.

Then he remembered his bag. The one he had on his back when he was on that awful trip through Dad's portkey. It looked vaguely similar to his bag _from before_. That couldn't be right... could it? Now he was curious. _Wait, where did it end up in? Was it in my room?_

As he followed them into the fireplace with floo powder in hand, a vague picture of him talking to snakes while Hermione was watching continued to unfold in his mind. It felt true enough that he didn't even bother convincing himself he was delusional. His mind merely marked those memories as 'other memories' and left it at that'. And he decided that he would certainly look for his bag once the day was done.

Thus the days of the three young witches and wizards spent in England started. Weeks and months from now, they will spend many of their days shuffling between the Potter and Lovegood estates for their pre-Hogwarts lessons. In the meantime, the dark cloud that their parents had observed over Europe before continued to grow into a gathering storm.

'-

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**Author's Note:** Sorry for the setback experienced by Harry, Hermione and Luna. The reason would get around soon.

If Dorea and Charlus Potter sounds familiar to you, why, they're canon characters. They're clearly labelled on a branch of the Black family tree. On that count, I will also say that I did not follow the ages set there for the older generation. Just consider this as a warning before you mention it. This is because I noticed that Pollux had his first child when he was _13_, if not _12_. I don't know how old his wife was, but that is still a tad too creepy for my taste (I'm not sure if JK. Rowling realized it when she wrote the dates down). Dorea would've borne a child at around the impossible age of _7_. So in the interest of reducing the creep factor, I'm pushing their ages up. If it meant that I have to push back the birthdates of _several generations_, well, so be it.

On that note, I cut out one or two scenes I'm not sure I wanted to include here because I didn't want to focus too much on the parents when they're practically new characters. I just hope I didn't confuse anyone too much like I did my good beta,_ Seablue Eyes_. Thanks to my good friend l_clausewitz on lj, without which the bomb scene would be rather inaccurate. I didn't get back him again, so anything rather off still in there is all mine.

Comments, as always, are appreciated.


	3. 02 The Finhowe Arc I

**Author's Note**: I've actually written all the way to July 1940, but I didn't like the way the story began, so I added _this_ arc as the beginning. The next installment is done, and would probably be up next week, or a fortnight from now. The one _after_ that, though, may take some time. The three kids are obviously still pretty isolated from the war at this point.

**Update: **The first two reviews I have on this chapter seems to be of completely opposite opinions. Perhaps I need to say that we will be getting to Hogwarts alright, but not soon.

'-

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**02: ****The Finhowe Arc I**

_A story doesn't start when the hero goes on a journey. It starts when the hero prepares themselves for it._

'**-**

**January 1940**

_- __Pottersborough__ -_

It was an overcast and chilly morning.

No one thought that going outside was a good idea at all, so they made peace with the settling boredom of staying indoors. Dorea Potter brought the children up the grand staircase from the foyer, then down the east wing of Potter Manor on its endless claret carpet. They stopped at a large pair of doors that were twice of Dorea's height, its smooth surface proudly displaying its wizened age. She pushed it softly, and without the slightest creak or whisper, the two halves swung inward as if on a gust of wind.

Three walls were covered in bookshelves except for one or two rare windows. The entire east wall was nonexistent—it was all crystalline glass from floor to soaring chapel-height ceiling, a hole to the outside world. The bare trees in the snowed-over gentle rises of Pottersborough could be seen just outside the sitting place, as were the regular lines of crusty hedgerows and tree-rows bordering lands asleep while clouds hung lazily above all. Even the tall roof showed the grey sky here, and generous in bathing the room with winter daylight. A pair of stairs led up to a partial level. Apart from the comfortable couches, one could almost feel that one was outdoors instead of inside. The roaring granite fireplace, though, did not let cold sink its cold hands into the room.

"Welcome to the Pottersborough library," Dorea said, a proud smile on her features. She did not miss the wide-eyed wonder of the children. Neither Harry nor James had been old enough to be here when they were still in England. James immediately sunk himself into one of the comfortable chairs, Harry was awed.

"Have a good time, everyone."

What enchanted Hermione beyond anything was, of course, the books. Bookshelves covered all the walls that were not windows all the way to the ceiling, apart from the area that was taken by the fireplace, brimming with leather-bound tomes and thick books. Wheeled ladders were placed at regular intervals, welcoming sentries in a garden of knowledge. Even the shelves in the middle were tall, even if they did not tower as much as the ones on the corners. Hermione thought she could hear a high-pitched squeal, but a moment later she noticed that it was coming from her throat and she hurried to cover her mouth. It didn't last long.

"Thank you, Aunt Dorea. I… I don't know what else to say. Can I borrow a book? Or maybe more than one book? Can I borrow three, maybe, in case I need to check up references for our homework?"

Dorea chuckled. There was such a deep reverence in Hermione's eyes. "You can. Anyone can. Just be sure not to miss your meals—and that goes for you too, Harry."

Hermione turned to see Harry already halfway up one shelf. Luna was already on top of one, and before Hermione needed to ask, Harry's mother explained it. "You only need to give orders to the ladders, you see. If you say 'up!', then they'd carry you up. If you say 'down!', then they'll go down until you tell them to stop or until they reached the floor. It's very similar to riding a broom—"

Here, Hermione felt her throat tighten a little, but was determined not to be intimidated away.

"So, what's today's schedule, Aunt Dorea?"

"Today? Nothing yet. Today is entirely up to you to fill."

'-

It began as a comfortable excursion as the three of them separated to different corners—only James was mildly disappointed that it was _only_ a mountain of books waiting for them, and Harry's younger brother wandered away not so long after that.

It was an hour or two later then, when Luna was climbing beyond the ladders and up the shelves on the smaller second story of the library. She wasn't looking for books—she wasn't even looking at books at this point. She was poking the walls and peeling the wallpapers just a hand's breadth from the ceiling. It was a good thing that Harry happened to be there as well at the time, or he might not have noticed. She distracted him from _A Dueller's List of Most Useful Speed Spells_; Harry carefully placed the bookmark back on the page, closed the book and pushed his glasses up his nose as he stood.

"Luna?"

"I found a door, Harry," Luna said clearly, without leaving room for Harry to wonder if she actually said what he thought she said. She peeled the wallpaper slowly, carefully without damaging it, and soon Harry could also see the small nut-brown door on the wall. It was an odd door, curved on the corners and edges, and to his eyes, it did not seem to be made according to human measurement. It was only half again longer than it was wide. No adult would be able to walk-in upright—even Harry couldn't. Luna nodded happily to herself.

"Tada. Let's see what's behind it."

It was a testament to Harry's experience with his friend that he had scrambled up the ladder she left beside her without a second thought, hands and knees banging against the wood in a hurry. He never felt it for long, since he was occupied by something else.

Harry held Luna's hand back before she could try to pry the small door open.

"I think," Harry grabbed the edges of the bookshelf desperately, trying not to fall. "I think we've agreed that in case of _odd stuff_, we practice caution. You remember the last time we opened a gift from one of de Montmorency's goons."

"Philomena isn't a goon, Harry," Luna corrected.

"She's underhanded enough to be one for me," he insisted. He couldn't think well of the girl who was sweet to Luna and yet sold them out anyway. "So, only Hermione got away without getting itching powder all over her hands. We need to have a plan."

"Open it and see what happens?"

"Uh, no. There could be traps, or something. I don't know. I don't believe my parents would've left anything harmful here, and this isn't a Black residence. But maybe…" Luna's fingers were tapping on the edges in an irregular rhythm, while her right hand did the same but with her wand. Harry knew it wasn't random; she was checking for something, finding patterns.

"Maybe there's an outdated alarm charm, or maybe doxies had taken over the space behind it completely." Luna said.

"Yeah, that's it! So. We need a plan. I think we should get Hermione first." Harry said. He leaned over the railing, and called for his friend.

'-

"We need to tell Aunt Dorea," Hermione said firmly (and a tad too primly, in Harry's opinion). He rolled his eyes. His friend's reaction did not come as a surprise to him, but it made him impatient all the same. He put forward his best argument, the only way Hermione would ever agree with them.

"You could go off and tell my mother, but during that time, we would've gone in. Why don't we just try to open it and see where it goes? The Potters' don't have _dungeons_, for goodness' sake. It's probably only going to lead to some secret storage room where people use to stockpile food."

"It could've been a place where they hid people in the civil war," Luna said carelessly. "Royalists, Parliamentarists—who knows on which side wizards are on? My best guess is both, but maybe more on the Royalist side. Cromwell always was a bit too uptight."

Harry could see that Hermione was weakening—she was as curious as any of them, if not doubly so. It was there in the way she bit her lip and walked back and forth, restlessly toying with her wand as her gaze lingered up again and again on the door. Where Harry was interrupted in the middle of reading one book, Hermione carried three with her up. All three had bookmarks in them. Harry knew that a good part of her reluctance stemmed from being interrupted just when she diving deep into the heart of who knows what matter.

"Mmm, the door doesn't have anything," Luna said, pulling it open without a worry. Before either Hermione or Harry could stop her, quick as a fox, she climbed in.

'-

But what lies inside? Harry climbed up with the finesse of a monkey and Hermione hurriedly followed suit without any other choice. They found that there was enough room for a person to stand inside. The place was narrow and they had to proceed in a file, with the glow of _lumos_ light emanating from their wand. Luna was happy to be leading the way, and she wouldn't exchange her position with Harry no matter how he begged. Yet it wasn't so bad, as Harry had said. The narrow corridor was dusty, and cobwebs covered their faces once in a while, but there was nothing else. There were no sign of rats, mice or other creatures, and the air was dry and cold. The winding path veered upwards steeply more than once, repeatedly turning into a narrow flight of stairs at points. Hermione's hypothesis was how they were going to end up in some attic of some sorts.

At last, the path came to an end. There was a barrier, a trapdoor above Luna's head, and Harry helped push against it. It wasn't locked and they opened it without difficulty.

Hermione was right. It was an attic.

First, there were chests upon chests of old clothes, ancient clothes. Harry strutted once or twice with a tricorn, and then with a wide brimmed hat decorated with a flamboyant feather to the laughter of his friends. Hermione remarked that his last hat looked more continental than British, and Harry tried the arrogant strides of a certain Philippe Chevalier de Montmorency from Beauxbaton. Luna found an ermine coat she immediately put on, though Hermione pointed out that it probably had some moth-eaten holes. For all her warnings of bugs and things that could bite, Hermione apparently couldn't hold herself back either when she put on a green velvet coat that was a bit larger than her size. She answered Harry's raised eyebrow by sticking her tongue out. The clothes would have been a heaven-sent gift to any school trying to run a play, and they did spend half an hour sorting the ones that were damaged beyond help and those that could still be repaired. Harry had not taken off the tricorn hat he found.

"Call me Admiral Potter, landlubber," he insisted with mock-seriousness, and Hermione couldn't stop her snorts of laughter. Luna didn't bother trying to hold back at all.

They wandered deeper, unafraid and unconcerned. Hermione did try to use a tracking spell once in a while, a manual version of a sneak-o-scope. Yet nothing set it off except for a jack-in-the-box that threw pies, and a fake wand of the sort one could buy in joke shops. The instance where Hermione cast the spell became farther and farther apart.

"Hey, check this out!"

Harry was showing off his next find, a jeweler's antique magnifying glasses. Luna lifted its box holding up the various interchangeable lenses inside it. Hermione smiled; it would seem that Harry was being very lucky today. She would've drifted in their general direction out of curiosity if she didn't happen to stumble upon something huge.

At first she thought it was a painting or perhaps a tapestry. It covered the wall in front of her until just before the ceiling. At a closer look she realised that it was a great chunk of wood rather than canvas—a pair of them, in fact. They were each wood slabs the size of a dining table, leaning back against the wall and supported by some system of pulleys and ropes. She could almost imagine one of Harry's ancestors coming from some far corner of a continent, bringing them home. As if appropriate of their origins, there was the stylistic carving of a tree on them, the right half on one slab and the left half on the other. At the end of each branch were names she couldn't read—the alphabet she didn't recognize and the letters were weathered and worn away by time. Their size alone begot awe, and their age was beyond Hermione's reckoning. The tree… somehow looked familiar. Luna was stroking a stuffed panther with a sad look in her eyes that Hermione had to look away. She was reminded of her cat a little too much.

After that large tree she found several cupboards and wardrobes, some uselessly broken, while others were functional enough, though she can't imagine why one would pile such a number of furniture without starting to throw it away—but perhaps it was because they had enough space to keep them. There were mirrors, covered in dust or covered with cloths, and there were one or two doorframes. Hermione thought that they should've just thrown it away after a renovation or two. Harry was farther down from them, and his voice called their attention next.

"Luna, Hermione! Look!"

'-

At first, she thought Harry was talking about the pentagram painted inside a circle on the floor in red ink. Five burned down candles sat at each of its points, and Hermione thought she could recognise the alphabet used and maybe even the words. Yet Harry shook his head and pointed further…

…to a standing mirror. Hermione shrugged.

"A mirror?"

"No, _no_. Look, you see that it's placed inside an archway, right?" He said, excitement colouring his voice.

"It's a two-way mirror," Luna said, understanding him first. Hermione didn't catch it until she walked up to it. It was then that she realised that the room it showed wasn't the one they were standing in—even if Hermione could see herself exactly as she was. It was an attic too—but a different attic. The wood used as flooring was of a different type, the place not as large, and the light and shadows came and fell at a different angle. It was admittedly eerie, and she would've backed up farther if Harry didn't approach it instead.

"It's a door, Hermione. You remember how our houses have their backways in Paris, right? How it we didn't have to go out of the house to visit each other, and not even use the floo?"

Hermione frowned, "But isn't that a portal?"

"When inactive, it looks like a mirror to fool other people," Luna explained, "though maybe yours is in such out-of-the-way place that you haven't seen it when it's not in use as a door."

"And there's a writing on the archway," Harry said, now grinning ear to ear. "_Finhowe _=_ Pottersborough_. Heey, I know that place! It's actually not far from here. It's a small parcel of land that was my mother's dowry. It's not so big or attractive that she said it's been passed on from several families in several generations already. It's basically three hills and a small creek in between them."

"It's like, the itchy sweater people keep re-gifting at Christmas?" Hermione asked. Harry chuckled and nodded at that.

"I suppose you could say that. I don't think there's anything wrong with the place, though. It's just small, hilly, and out of the way. As my Dad would say, you can't even hunt anything larger than a rabbit in it. Or squirrels. Anyway, nobody lives there, and it's usually leased out. I don't think anyone's in there right now."

"Want to check it out now?" Luna asked. It was clearly rhetorical because she had her wand out already at this point. Harry smiled.

"This… couldn't be some kind of trap, right?" Hermione asked, not quite happy.

"Nah. Portals like these have magical signatures that are too large and obvious for anyone to sneak in through them. No witch or wizard would be able to open it on this side if the house's blood wards don't recognise them. I'm going to go first!"

'-

At first it seemed that Harry was going to crash into a mirror, but the reflective surface _bent_ instead, accommodating his presence before he passed to the other side with a weird _gloop_ (Hermione thought it was slightly unsettling, in the way that all slimes are subtly disgusting). Luna went next without a second thought and Hermione fought down her anxiety and walked all the way to the archway. Its mirror surface was diminishing by every moment, and when Hermione passed, it was no different from passing a doorway.

"Well, it's an active door now because we'd just used it," Harry remarked, before going off to see if there was anything interesting in _this_ attic.

The first difference that Hermione noticed was the ceiling. If Pottersborough's attics could accommodate several full-sized large dinosaur bones (she saw one, in fact, a glass-encased Triceratops), Finhowe's was much lower. The beams supporting the roof were thin and functional unlike the ancient strength of the wood in Pottersborough. It looked more ordinary. Hermione guessed that the place was more of a secluded house in the forests than anything. Her assessment was supported by the small number of objects there, and none of them were clothes. After the oddities that they saw in Harry's house, Finhowe felt quite mundane.

"The elfs cleaned it once a month, I think," Harry stated, "So let's see what the rest of the house is like."

With that, he had lifted a different trapdoor and hefted himself through. Hermione sighed. If she knew they were going to go exploring today, she would've prepared a bag for all the emergencies she could think of. Luna went down soon enough, and Hermione started thinking about all the things that she would pack into an 'exploring bag' as a way to stave off her nervousness of going places without any plan.

_Blanket, matches or some other way of creating fire that does not have to rely on magic, Skele-Gro, some basic poultices__…_

Hermione paused. There was something that she knew she ought to remember about poultices. It was then that Luna's arm crossed her line of vision, and Hermione remembered. Two days before they returned to England, there was an 'accident' during dinner. Someone spilled hot soup on Luna's arm. Hermione had stood up quickly and brought her to the infirmary in no time, but it still took days to heal. She felt more guilt than anger because Luna had moved to take the soup from the culprit without concern, when the one she was trying to pass it to was Hermione (it was clear that there were people who disliked her because of her campaign for house-elf rights). Luna didn't even accept Hermione's apology. _Whatever for? _She had asked, grey eyes wide and unconcerned. _You didn't do anything. It was an accident. Don't be silly, Hermione_…

But Hermione never forgot, and she was certain that Luna intercepted it _because_ she knew it was for herself.

_Burn poultices_, Hermione thought again. _I really shouldn't forget burn poultices_.

'-

It was actually a rather cosy house of a manageable size, placed on top of the second largest hill in Finhowe. Harry said that it reminded him of the holiday cottage in Nice, but personally, Hermione wouldn't use the word 'cottage' for the place (in the same way she didn't actually think of Harry's home as merely a 'house'). They agreed that it couldn't have been unsafe if the elfs routinely visited it, but Harry agreed with Hermione on the point that they were not going to take any chances. Better safe than sorry, they say (driven on by a slightly paranoid feeling at the back of their heads that they could not quite account for). Harry and Hermione would've gone on and scanned the house top to toe immediately if Luna hadn't pointed out that they might as well go back first for now and make up their plans in the relative comfort of Pottersborough. Really, it wasn't as if they brought any food here.

'Which is the first mistake of an unplanned picnic,' Luna had said.

So they went back. Luna's advice turned out to have been a very good one because just around that time, Harry's mother went looking for them to brief them on the temporary class schedules.

'-

It was odd, how the three of them could be very different in some ways, and yet in perfect synchrony in others. When James complained about how they were in the library for too long at tea time, and that he couldn't find them immediately, Hermione launched a defence of the importance of understanding the philosophical basis of transfiguration (which Harry was sure was said only half in jest). Luna herself contributed to the conversation about some interesting plants she had read that she'd love to check out in the Lovegood Tower greenhouse and Harry gladly put in his two knuts about the best five spells you just _have_ to be able to cast even half-asleep that he had just found.

Put it simply, they would gladly bore and terrorize the heck out of James if it meant that he would stay away for a while.

Harry couldn't really say why, but even if he could say with certainty that there's nothing dangerous or worrying about Finhowe, he couldn't bring himself to bring his little brother there. He couldn't even begin to imagine it, not yet. He could put himself at risk, and he was sure Hermione and Luna knew the risk, but he couldn't do it to his little brother. All that he could think was how, he would only dare to do that if he felt his brother could defend himself in a fight—and even Harry knew that it didn't make sense. Why is that the requirement for being allowed to drop in to an empty holiday house?

Still, he didn't want to cross that feeling at all. It felt right.

'-

"I don't know what to do about James, he's too nosy sometimes." Hermione said with a sigh. She had a wand in a holster, but gave up trying to control brooms as 'impractical' and was sweeping the traditional way. "We can't really involve him in this."

Never mind that 'this' was just them cleaning up an old house. Harry wasn't quite sure what else to say but an indistinct sound of agreement as he watched the windows. He was about to wipe them before Luna made it into a fun game—she would send out bubbles of soap to splash on needed points on the window, and he would send the sponges to wipe them down after that. The fun came in when he had to guess where she would throw her soap bubble. Luna did this while half singing-half humming a tune, not jig-like but flowing, haunting. It was an old folk song Harry didn't think he had heard before, but it was beautiful. It conjured images of a time when rivers run wild and unfettered by mills and dams, when forests were dark and enchanted.

_Snow-white, Snow-white, a maiden fair,  
>She is over the hills, and now far away,<br>Come back, come back! Her father says,  
>But she danced on and on, and cannot stay.<em>

_From her homeland she rode on her own,  
>The maiden with the jet black hair,<br>And where she tread, she won renown,  
>For wit and wisdom that she shares<em>

Luna hummed the rest of the way, and Harry didn't hear any lyric any further. He was distracted then by the sound of Hermione's broom—and not the sound of a broom used for flying, at that.

"Have you tried the breeze charm, Hermione? You might be able to carry the dust away," Harry suggested, nodding slightly to Luna's tune.

"As opposed to actually spreading them all over the room?" Hermione asked. "No, that's not going to work either. Don't worry, Harry. It's not as if I've never swept my house. If we find a better spell, we'll use it, but I can do it this way just fine too."

The three of them continued pretty industriously throughout the day. At first, Harry had thought of asking Minky's help, but Hermione commented that it would also mean that Harry was making them accomplices. They might not be doing anything peculiar now, but if they do, then Harry would be asking them to put their loyalty to Harry above his parents.

"It would stress them," Hermione pointed out. "I don't think I could do that."

So in the end, they did the cleaning themselves. Never mind that Harry had actually told his mother that he found the two-way mirror to Finhowe, and she only smiled at that and told him to be careful in case some of the floors had rotted. _Don't tell the details of your plans to more people than necessary_, he could vaguely remember himself saying that. It was just a… habitual precaution, Harry realised. The only questionable part of it being, he couldn't remember how he acquired it. It felt as comfortable as an old glove, and he was content with that.

'-

* * *

><p><em>- <em>_Wapping, St. Catchpole – Divination Lessons with Artemis__ -_

Today was Divination, and then free period.

Hermione had sniffed loudly when she heard that they were going to study Divination today, taught by Aunt Artemis. Really, was there anything worthwhile to learn from that nonsense? She would've protested immediately if she was handed a crystal ball or a cup of tea to read from. As of now, what she, Harry and Luna received was a blindfold as they stood outside in the cold wind (what is it with wizards and witches and the outdoors no matter what the season was? She grumbled under her breath).

"What is this for, Aunt Artemis?" Hermione finally asked as she tightened her coat around her. The strip of cloth hung limp on her hand.

"You get to wear them and stand still. Then, I throw spells your way,"

"What?"

"And you're not supposed to move," the blonde witch said casually, as if it was obvious. Her long hair was braided into four, each with four strands, and tied firmly with ropes and holly leaves. Hermione thought she should've seen the clues sooner—Aunt Artemis was almost always in a robe, the same way Aunt Dorea was always in a dress. To see her suddenly in trousers and wyvern-hide boot really ought to be a sign, especially when she asked all of them to dress for the outdoors. The usually placid Lovegood witch seemed more like a Valkyrie at the moment than the carefree witch she knew. Hermione cleared her throat.

"I thought we're learning Divination?"

The words fell out of Hermione's lips for no other reason that she didn't know what else to say. Aunt Artemis smiled, all serene innocence.

"I thought you didn't like crystal balls, Hermione," she said, as if it explained everything. Hermione was beginning to understand where Luna got her cryptic sentences from. The blonde witch walked around the (currently barren) grass field of the Lovegood Tower grounds, stalking around them like a large African cat. "Don't worry, I have a good aim. Harry, please come forward. Let's start with you first so everyone else understood what's going to happen."

Harry walked forward with trepidation, putting on his blindfold when asked to do so. The moment he heard an _expelliarmus_ cast his way, he yelped and jumped down. Artemis Lovegood shook her head.

"Oh dear, you're not supposed to duck, Harry," she said, "Can you please stand up so we can try that again?"

"No!"

Artemis nodded. "Oh, you want to wait for everyone else first? Alright, Hermione, step forward. I think Harry hasn't got the point yet."

Hermione vigorously shook her head. Artemis idly turned to Harry again, wand casually twirled in her hand with a strange deftness—no matter how far it went, or how it seemed to about to fall, it never did. "Well, it seemed that Hermione doesn't quite get it yet, Harry. I guess we could try it with you again."

"But I don't want to get hit!" Harry said, still from somewhere in the vicinity of their shoes. Luna's mother seemed perplexed at that.

"But I won't hit you," the witch said demurely, just as confused as the kids on the field. "The objective isn't to hit you, you see. I'll aim it slightly to the left or right, sometimes far and sometimes close, and you have to guess where it went. That's the point of today's lessons."

Luna raised her hand. She was the only one of the three of them who wasn't gripping her wand as if it was a lifesaver.

"You have to say that _before_ you start slinging spells, Mother." Luna said. "We didn't know what we're about to do today."

"Ah, is that so?" Comprehension dawned on her face, and she tapped her chin with her finger in thought. Wisps of blonde hair drifted around her face like a halo.

Luna nodded sagely. "Yes, Mum. I think you're scaring Hermione and Harry otherwise,"

'-

Harry rolled aside and successfully dodged two consecutive jelly-legs jinx. Hermione raised her hand, her sturdy brown coat now dotted with the occasional dirt. She had a crease on her forehead and a tic on her left eye. Harry thought that her mood must be quite bad now that she had to go through divination after her frustration at DADA yesterday.

"Aunt Artemis, what exactly are we studying?" Hermione asked.

"Training your _Sensing_ abilities. Some muggles call it 'sixth-sense'. Divination is too far into the future and too impractical on a daily basis, so I thought it makes more sense to start with Sensing first. The point is only trying to feel a few moments forward into the future to help you on your duels and battles," She paused; the kids were staring at her with varying degrees of confusion and realisation.

"Oh dear. I guess I haven't said that yet, have I?"

'-

"Why am I still getting hit pretty often?" Hermione complained.

"_Immobilus!_"

Hermione gave up on guessing and simply flattened herself on the ground. It was the wrong move because that was exactly where the spell was aimed at. Luna dispelled Hermione in the next moment. Hermione pulled her blindfold down, vexed at her own failure.

"Don't think unnecessary thoughts, Dear, clear your mind," Aunt Artemis said.

"You haven't said that before…" Hermione sighed.

'-

"So, if this is Sensing, then what is Divination?" Hermione asked while everyone took a momentary break to drink a little and sit down on the grass.

"Looking farther forward," Aunt Artemis said easily as she scribbled notes of their performance in the last round with a quill. "A prophecy is as such, a clue of a future event that you pick up in the river of time—it is _not_ something that you make. On the other hands, that opinion is probably at odds with the Delphian school, so you might need to find out what kind of education you Divination teacher had if you want to avoid arguments."

"Why can't we just discuss it reasonably with them?" Hermione asked.

Aunt Artemis smiled, "Hogwarts has always had a… string of bad luck in electing their Divination teachers."

'-

Harry was a sitting duck. If there was any way that it needed to be more obvious, he only needed a present big bow on his head.

Artemis, Luna and Hermione had their wands out and aimed slightly off at varying degrees from Harry. It seemed that Aunt Artemis had assessed him to have a significant talent, and now she had everyone assisting her in trying to see how far it went. _This is beginning to feel like Harry-hunting all over again,_ the odd voice in his head commented.

"Harry, don't duck again," Luna said.

"I can't help it!"

Harry had tried hard to suppress the worry from his voice, but it was hard to do that when one was blindfolded. It was especially hard when one remembered that there were people aiming their wands at him while _he_ was blindfolded. Three against one. _This is like that time with Dudley, Piers Polkiss and that weasel-faced boy. Yup, just like the old times_, came the odd thought again.

"Well, you have excellent reflexes, but you need to consciously control that for now," Aunt Artemis' voice came through, "Stay still and try to notice if you can feel more than one spell coming before you hear it zap past. Ready?"

Harry was thinking that having excellent reflexes had always served him well in avoiding his annoying muggle cousin, not to mention omnicidal dark lords, but he didn't say anything else. He was somehow starting to accept the odd half of his mind as a part of him too, and it didn't bother him as much as it once did. It seemed to know why he was good at some things a lot more than most of his Beauxbatons friends had been.

"Ready?"

"Yes."

"Good. Let's start again. Clear your mind."

Harry tried his best at that and held himself still. Soon he could feel a slight tingling by his ear as something sailed past, the smell of high-strung air, more energetic and filled with static. He stepped aside even without thinking, before he stepped away from another tingling on his cheek.

"Harry?"

"That was the right, wasn't it? And then still the right, but closer."

"Yes. Now try to extend your sense farther. You should be able to detect it sometime after I'm halfway into the wand movement and had yet to say the incantation out loud. Again. Clear your mind."

'-

Even as everyone else walked back into the tower, Hermione knew what the reality was for her.

This week's classes seem intent on failing her.

Where Harry and Luna was talking at a fast pace about the times they felt this spell passing or that, and how it was easier with certain types of spell, Hermione held back. Harry had around a seventy-five percent success rate. Hermione's was near fifty-four percent. Harry was trying to comfort her by saying that it wasn't so bad, really (it didn't help). Luna pointed out to Harry that, according to the Arithmancy Theory class that Hermione's mother taught them, Hermione's odds was only comparable to a simple coin toss.

_Or a random guess_, Hermione thought bitterly to herself, though Luna _thankfully_ didn't say that at all. It didn't dull the ache of the acute realisation. Her 'talent' was just marginally better than a blind shot. Not to mention that the small difference might be insignificant. Hermione felt like throwing herself on her bed and giving up on magic for today.

She sighed and trailed beside Aunt Artemis instead, letting Harry and Luna to walk ahead of her.

"I'm... I'm not talented at this, am I?" Hermione asked, her voice soft.

"That is not entirely correct." She said, this time with a hand on the Hermione's shoulder and with a gentler tone of voice. "You might not be have a fine-tuned sense like Luna or Harry, but there is no reason for you to be unable to reach the river of time at all. I figured that perhaps it would suit you better to _scry_ instead. It's far more methodological with all sorts of ingredients that you have to gather for the potion and the very specific steps you have to follow. You may not be able to sense forward for many little things, but you'd be able to see back or forward for more important things if you ever have to. You'd just be doing it differently."

"What do you think, Hermione? Ready to read a book again?" Aunt Artemis asked.

The smile that took over Hermione's face was dazzling.

'-

"Wait, where's James?" Harry asked around the lunch table at Lovegood Tower.

Hermione looked around in a rush, disturbed to have only noticed it then. Harry had only realised his younger brother hadn't been with them during their classes today (in their defence, they were too busy dodging). Luna shook her head, unknowing. It was Uncle Theo who answered his question. He was wearing a yellow robe patterned with blue clouds on it and green… llamas. Harry was trying hard not to glance at it at all.

"Charlus told me that he's with the main-branch Blacks, in Arcturus' house. Apparently he's studying with your cousins Cygnus and Orion. Something about how your aunt, Cassiopeia Black was asking _insistently_ about him, and how his education has been going, and if he'd covered the material that she was currently teaching to your cousins."

That was an interesting surprise for Harry. Usually his mother would drag him to most family affairs. "And… Dad didn't say that I have to go too?"

"Well, they're probably studying pre-Hogwarts material. Since you're Hogwarts age already, I think that it would be beyond you already, wouldn't it?"

Harry let out a relieved sigh. Well, he felt bad for James, really, but he was sure Aunt Cassie was less prickly to the younger children. If he had to choose between Arithmancy and Aunt Cassiopeia… well, Arithmancy wins any day. Make it Arithmancy, Runes _and_ Basic Latin, which was the worst combination of class to ever come up in Beauxbatons (Everybody called it the Bloody Monday of Second Year—getting it on their schedule was considered a bad luck omen for a year for any House). Still, Harry would choose Bloody Monday even if he had to do so five days a week.

Luna had a different expression on her face. It was… interest? Excitement? For a moment, Harry wasn't sure why until he saw her mouthing one word.

_Finhowe_.

'-

* * *

><p><em>- <em>_Finhowe – A Fateful Meeting__ -_

As it had been for the last few days, it snowed last night as well. Now, the grounds were covered with a pristine white blanket. It had stopped by morning, and the sun was bright, even if slightly pale. Harry knew that they'd be fine with a thick coat and oft-repeats of warming charm. All in all, he was excited to finally be able to get out of the house and start trailing old abandoned paths up the tallest hill in Finhowe with Hermione and Luna. Luna was picking up oddly shaped branches for reasons that Harry didn't know to put into her basket.

"If you wanted to get around so much, you could simply fly," Hermione said.

"The warming charm isn't going to last too long against the winds above." Harry said neutrally, trying not to look up where he might see his owl and a large white bird enjoying their flight. He did bring his broom along, but that was just in case he would need it for some emergency or something. The Cleansweep 38 also made the basket he had to carry less, well, weird if he hung it at one end of his broom, instead of carrying in his hand like the witches did. Hermione's frown was still on her forehead; she didn't see the attraction of walking through the bare landscape. It may be said as well that it was a remnant of yesterday's DADA class as well as today's divination—when it came to lessons, Hermione almost always excelled them, but it made the rare failure all the more galling for her.

"I don't really mind if you go back in, Hermione," Harry said lightly trying to put her at ease, "Really, it's just snow."

"I don't believe that you came all the way out here, just for _snow_. Pottersborough is just as thick with it," she replied sceptically.

"But the hills are beautiful _with_ snow," Luna pointed out. "It's just so so peaceful here."

Harry nodded at that, not quite sure what else to say as he faced the brisk wind head on. It was bracing, and the sound had a lulling rhythm to them. The three hills of Finhowe fell under winter's hushed spell as all creatures left its surface, and now this otherworldly kingdom was theirs to explore. It was as much about the snow as well as tall holly trees and bare-headed oaks holding their own sleepy counsel. For Harry it was freeing, and it was calming. He shuddered at the thought of last Sunday, when the Potters fielded a visit from his Aunt Cassiopeia, Aunt Ermenegilda, Aunt Berengaria and Aunt Jocasta (all so eager to meet their dearest Dorea, all so quick to pinch the cheeks of their secretly-terrified nephews). It was merely a more sophisticated version of bedlam. He was sure they _definitely_ did not consult each other, because it wasn't as if their personal dislike for one or more relatives were any secret.

"Maybe we should stop for a while? If anyone is tiring right now?" Harry asked.

Harry paused and leaned back on a low oak branch. Hermione shook her head, firm in her determination. "No. We've just gone out—I think we can manage without resting for another half an hour. Now that we're out, we might as well do our best to explore the place."

With that, she marched forward ahead of them, wand drawn like a machete against any unruly bush that had the audacity to stand in her way. Harry took a deep breath.

"She practices until very late at night, you know. She wanted to do the Patronus Charm so much." Luna commented. She was weaving the dried rushes she carried with her into a bracelet.

"I know," Harry groaned.

It wasn't as if he really _wanted_ to be better than Hermione—it doesn't make a difference to him. It wasn't as if it was what they actually _had_ to learn yesterday, if what his mother had said about the topic beforehand was any indication. It was just that Harry's father was too carefree when he taught them. He got everyone to try out various interesting spells that were supposed to be for higher years (certainly _not_ yesterday's topic) . Not that they had much success even when Harry could feel flashes of insight about how a certain spell was supposed to go, and how he still lacked a little more finesse for it (he probably needed more practice with all the spells, it wasn't much of a surprise). It was only that when he reached the patronus, the spell felt so natural, so _familiar_ to Harry...

"It's not really a problem, Harry. You don't need to worry about it either," Luna said, patting his arm. "Hermione just needs to get distracted with another project, and then she wouldn't be so obsessed with it anymore."

He sighed. "It's not that she's bad at it or anything! She knows all sorts of charms at the top of her head already. She's the one who succeeds in not failing most of Dad's random spells too. I don't see why she thinks just _one_ patronus charm as a problem. " Harry said.

"It's a good charm and a staple of advanced DADA classes," Luna replied casually.

"A lot of the other spells are also useful." Harry commented. "There's no reason to make a fuss about one charm. One. Bloody. Charm."

Luna smiled, pulling him along to follow the path that Hermione had taken before he groused any further. "I haven't managed to do it either. My mother always said that there is a season to all things, so I'm not worried. I'm sure we'd both get it later, just not now."

"Now, if only we could get her to realise that..." Harry muttered, to which the blonde witch only laughed.

'-ᵒδʘ

Harry was intent on having a good time. Luna was clearly enjoying herself. Hermione seemed fixed at charting the path they've taken, noting down every plant she could recognize in the vicinity and eagerly documenting a large way stone they met on their walk that was filled with runes. Harry took a deep breath, not knowing how to make his friend unwound. She was turning a simple walk into a _field trip_.

He didn't know what else to say but to keep the silence. The last time he tried to suggest a break (again), Hermione stared at him oddly and pointed out that neither she nor Luna were infirm, so he needn't treat them like glass. The next time he opened his mouth might have been an even worse disaster, or it might not. In truth, he didn't know, because Luna stepped in at the exact same time and pointed out an interesting (obviously empty) bird nest to Hermione.

He would've thought it to be coincidental if Luna didn't catch his eye after that and light-heartedly shook her head.

He sighed. Right, so his efforts weren't making things better. Still, he really, really wished she could just relax.

'-ᵒδʘ

"Should we worry if we suddenly hear the howl of a wolf?" Harry asked.

"There are no more wolves in England, Harry," Hermione answered, jotting down more trail information on a piece of scroll. Harry was starting to think that she had her stationery supply in her basket instead of the lunch she insisted that they pack.

"Muggle, yes, but they said nothing about werewolves, right?" He said. Hermione gave him a look of abject horror that he immediately tried to backtrack, waving his hands in front of him. "Not that there are werewolves or anything. I mean, I'm sure Dad would've heard something from Pottersborough if that was the case—the village, not the house. It was just an idle question, _really_."

And it was exactly at this unfortunate time that they heard a scream.

_I shouldn't have said that_, Harry thought glumly.

The three of them paused. It was a faint scream, and Harry was half-sure that it might even be just his imagination or one of the voices in his head (though why he even thought it _normal_ for people to think they were hearing the sounds of tortured souls in their heads, he could not begin to guess. Actually, he didn't want to know too much about himself in this case). The way colour drained out from Hermione's face, and how Luna's ears pricked up at it and tried to locate the direction assured him that it was from an external source.

"Werewolves?" Hermione's voice was in a harsh whisper. Luna shook her head.

"It just sounds like someone hurt. We need to help them."

"Yeah. There's no sound of animals or anything," Harry said. His thin faltering smile was constantly trying to slip away from his face.

Of course, it was at this moment that they heard a long growling sound, starting high and ending low. Hermione yelped. Luna froze, tilting her head to the source of the sound.

Harry groaned.

_I reeeally shouldn't have said that_.

'-ᵒδʘ

"We're running in the wrong direction!" Hermione said, even as they crossed a breakout of rocks on the ground and kicking snow in every third step. The voice in her head insisted that she find a better snow-repelling charm for the boots, because whatever the store claimed hers have, _it wasn't working_. She winced as a twig switched her left cheek. The warming charm she used was beginning to fade and her nose was starting to feel a little numb.

"What do you mean the wrong direction?" Harry shouted back. They separated due to a rather large and obstructive bush.

"Someone ought to tell your mother about this!"

"Someone's hurt and I'm not leaving them alone until I know if they're hurt bad," Harry insisted.

"They'd need first aid. It might be too late if we don't reach him right now." Luna answered. Hermione took a deep breath, knowing that she was outnumbered at this point. She could press her point, being her usual hard-headed self, but for once she had the feeling that it wasn't going to work much.

"Wait. We don't even know if whatever creature made _that_ sound is gone yet or not. We might even be running straight into a trap," Hermione said. "Everyone, please. At the very least, we've got to think about possible risks first."

Harry and Luna paused, with Harry eyeing her strangely. "A trap? Really? In Potter land?"

Hermione herself didn't know why she said that—it didn't cross her mind until it fell from her lips. _It was a possibility,_ she thought. _It happened often enough in raids against dark wizards, where there were times when they thought they could hear a child's voice crying_. It was meant to unsettle them, to create a hole in their defence and vigilance for a trap to spring, Hermione thought, before she tried to recall out from which book she had read that. Was it _Dark Wizards through the Ages_? But that one wouldn't have practical knowledge like that since the book was more of a series of biography. Was it _The Life and Times of Elias Potter, Thieftaker General_? It nagged on the back of her mind that she couldn't place the source of her knowledge, and Hermione hid her discomfort with a shrug. Her mind rushed forward with the best plan she could think under a minute that would prevent her friends from charging headlong into an unknown situation.

"Luna, we brought the omniculars with us, right?"

'-ᵒδʘ

"Hermione, what did you say again about wolves in England?" Harry asked, his voice strangely calm. They were standing at the edge of a bluff, the ground veering away under them sharply. It wasn't really a proper cliff, but it as high enough to injure someone seriously if they fell from it.

Hermione clicked her tongue even as she raised her own omnicular and stared down. "There are _no_ wolves in England, Harry. I—"

She gasped, zooming forward and making sure that she was seeing what she thought she was seeing. There was an injured person, and Hermione held her breath when she realised that the boy was probably close to their age. Making howling sounds above him was the most enormous, blackest wolf she had ever seen. She could probably enclose a single canine of the creature in her fist.

"It's a dog," Luna said from somewhere to her right. "He's worried about his friend."

Hermione shook her head. "No dog is that big. That's a…"

"…a wolf." Harry finished, saying the word Hermione wasn't eager to use.

"A tamed wolf is no longer a wolf," Luna said again. "It's a dog."

Harry shrugged. "Well, whatever he is, we can see that he's not trying to eat the person next to him. We can see that his owner's hurt, right?"

Luna tried several simple tracking spells the three of them had used often enough ever since they were in Beauxbatons. Each wasn't quite so useful and was too specific, but used together they had managed to spot more than one suspicious situation. It stopped Hermione from opening her bag that had been rigged with a splatter charm.

"The tracking spells can find no trace of unusual use of magic in the area. But then again, we're second-years," Luna said off-handedly after she finished. "As Hermione said; _there may be a trap_."

"The tracking spells _are fine_," Hermione insisted. "Did you know that half of them are British NEWT level spells? Yes, they are, Harry, no need to stare. That's why it took ages for us to master them and why they're dead useful against most pranks. I looked them up immediately once we're in England."

"We're second-years and there might be a power requirement to the spell that we couldn't fulfil. We might underpower it." Luna said casually with her sing-song voice.

Harry raised an eyebrow at Luna as Hermione geared up for another defence, knowing well from the smile on the blonde witch's face that she was teasing Hermione on purpose—it was just that his studious friend was too worked up at the time being to notice it. Luna only smiled back at him. Harry cleared his throat before the two of them could start again.

"I don't know about the two of you, but I'm going to go down there to help him."

'-ᵒδʘ

"Get orrff me."

"Growooooo."

"Gringolet, I can't move if you're on me, you big lummock. AAARRGH, MY ARM—"

Harry winced as he saw the very large… dog moved backward and whined, which to Harry still sounded like a faint growl. He had one foot on its owner that he had only now pulled back—the owner was shifting this way and that stiffly in the manner of one holding back pain. To Harry, it was obvious in his stifled yelps, Harry was quite sure of it (_it sounded like his own, when he had fallen from the roof, when he avoided his cousin_). Harry shook his head, banishing the odd images. The hurt boy in front of him was young and shorter than him, with chestnut hair wild on his head. He had a smart dark winter coat that Harry thought wouldn't look out of place when worn by any one of his cousins.

_Someone from an old family, then_, Harry thought.

"Are you alright?" Harry crouched down beside him. The wolf (dog) was crouching back, in the frightening way that predators do before they leapt and went for the kill. Harry took a step back, but the boy shushed his familiar and told him to draw back.

"My _arm_," he gasped, his gaze pained and pleading. "I fell and… oh, it was stupid of me to reach out and cover my head, but I quite like my noggin whole. So, uh, there goes _my arm_, broken and all."

"We could ease your pain a little, but it's not a proper healing." Hermione said as she came up with Luna. She eyed the great black dog warily while the boy assured them that Gringolet was well-trained. Harry had arrived in record time because he dived straight down on his broom, but Hermione took to the foot paths. For some reason, Luna followed her. Hermione searched for a potion to ease the pain a little while Luna performed _Episkey_ several times—not that it was ever going to fix the bone.

The boy shook his head, accepting the proffered potion with gratitude as he stayed still for the spell to be cast. "Thank you. As long as I could get back home, I'd be fine. Oh this is _such_ a _stupid idea__… _Morwen's going mention this again and again for _years_. She was already against me going and this, _this_ if the proof…"

"I'm sorry that you're hurt," Harry said. "I'm Harry. This is Luna and Hermione."

His smiles were bright even if it was interspersed with winces, and he beamed at them with the ease of an old friend. "Oh, don't mention it. It's not as if you're at fault. I was rushing too much that I didn't see the path ending, there, see? There, that path; the point where you were right before you went down. I'm Iwain, son of Ewain. This was supposed to be for a great birthday, the eleventh celebration."

"What brought you here?" Hermione asked.

"What brought _you_ here?" Iwain quipped back. "It's probably the same thing."

"We were visiting Harry's house," Luna said. "So you're visiting Harry?"

Iwain turned to Harry, his green eyes were all curiosity. "_Oh_. Your family owns that house-on-the-hill now? Here? My, I thought if I'd ever meet anyone, it would be Robert again. The last time I came here near the Tens, my previous birthday, he said it was a house of his family's that was on these grounds." Iwain replied, "I think that much spell would do, thank you. The pain is not so bad now."

"I think you went here on a dare." Hermione said, observing him with a critical eye. "From the way you avoid answering Luna's question, it sounds like you were doing something that was a really bad idea here."

Iwain winced and covered his face with his left hand, his good arm.

"Not right, but not far. I just… I just want to take my coat back. I left it on the farthest hill here. That one. Right at the top too. This was a bad idea to begin with." He sighed. Then, as if to himself, he spoke in a much softer tone. "_My coat, I lost my emerald coat; its sheen, none was ever that green. Woe! To lose a coat like so!_"

"It sounds valuable," Luna murmured, her tone gentler than Hermione's had been.

Iwain nodded, his gaze far and lost in his own thoughts. "Oh yes. It's not an ordinary coat—my mother made it, you see, and she knew many of magical weaves. Now she suddenly remembers about it and asks me if I can wear it on my birthday."

"So now you have to retrieve it," Hermione concluded, her arms still folded in front of her chest. Iwain grimaced. Harry suddenly felt that his position must be quite awful as he considered how he was going to get it back before his birthday without letting anyone know that he didn't have it at all right now.

"I was trying not to think about it. Then Gringolet needed to be walked, and I thought, well, why not do this too at the same time, and—" he stopped, and then shook his head a moment later. Iwain stood up, his left hand on Gringolet who hadn't stopped from hovering protectively over him. He leaned on his wolfdog (Harry couldn't think of him as just a _dog_).

"Never mind. It was a stupid idea. I'll just… I'll just go back home." He looked quite morose as he reached the conclusion.

"Goodbye everyone. It was nice to meet you."

He bowed a final greeting to them, which Harry, Hermione and Luna returned. Then, he turned his back on them, as if to leave, Gringolet close by his side.

"So… can I take the coat if I find it, then?" Luna asked innocently. Harry could see Iwain's shoulders' stiffen at the words, and for a moment he understood what his friend meant.

"What fabric is it made of? Linen? The finest twill? I'm sure your mother is a great seamstress. It must feel very snug to wear it, especially in a weather like this," Harry added, his voice all earnestness. Only Hermione was unaware of what her friends were trying to pull, and she was watching them with a perplexed expression.

"_Its sheen, none was ever so green_," Luna sang. Iwain faced them again, and this time Harry could see the loss clearly on his face, in his clenched-and-unclenched hands. He took a deep breath.

"Oh, alright! I'll admit it, I haven't actually given up on it. But it's not as if I can take it at all! I tried and I did fall! You saw what happened. I should've known better than to joke of offering it last time. Now, me words tie me." He walked rapidly in front of them, back and forth and lost in his own thoughts. Iwain paused at one point and suddenly turned to Harry, a startling intensity in his eyes.

"Wait. I can't take it, but I bet you can! Finhowe is your family's, right? You have the rights to it! I'm certain you would be able to get a right of passage at the very least! Yes, I think this would work." The three of them shared a look while Iwain's excitement bubbled. He was almost skipping at this point as he begged to Harry.

"Can I ask for your help to take it back? I promise that I'll give you something to make it worth your effort. Please, will you take it back for me?"

'-ᵒδʘ

Hermione could see that Harry would've helped Iwain right there and then, regardless of whether the other boy was going to give him anything at all. Hermione's concern was of a different note and she stepped forward before Harry said 'yes'.

"What makes you _unable_ to take it yourself? You said something about offering it earlier. _To whom?_"

Iwain cocked his head to one side, his green gaze as intense as it was odd. He stared at her as if it was one of the silliest questions he had ever heard. "Of course I _can't_ take it back! Who ever heard of an offering being taken back? Back then, I didn't think that _that_ hill, the largest of all, is really the real white lady's hill. There are several places rumoured to be like that all around here, but seems like the real one's really _here_."

"The white lady's hill?" Hermione repeated, uncomprehending.

Iwain nodded as if it was all very obvious.

"Well, why did you think Finhowe's cottage is built on the second hill instead of the tallest hill? It wouldn't be proper. No, not proper at all." His fingers went tap-tap-tap rapidly against empty air. "The largest hill in Finhowe? That's her barrow. What? Why are you all staring at me? Don't tell me you don't even know that it's a grave?"

He hummed something, a tune that was getting familiar. Luna followed him under her breath with the same tune.

'-ᵒδʘ

"You, are _barking mad_," Hermione said.

Iwain grinned sheepishly, "Actually, that would be Gringolet. People would just say that I'm mad."

The hound barked at the mention of his name. Hermione glared at Iwain for the feeble joke and the boy shrank at that, into his long coat. His head sunk halfway into the collar with his hands stuck deep into its pockets.

"You'd—you'd be fine," Iwain said. "The White Lady is just and even-handed. If you by her did no wrong, then no wrong will come to you from her. I swear it by my own name. She's noble of character and of birth. My fault is that _I_ made a mistake. _I've_ no right to claim my coat again. Anyone else, however, could ask for it as a gift if you won a challenge."

"A challenge against a fae queen? Do you realise that you'd owe us all a large favour with that? It won't be something you can escape from. At all." Luna's soft voice was grave, for once her voice held no mirth. Iwain's shoulder's sagged as he stared at the ground, at the hem of his long coat.

"She's human, she only married a fae," he murmured.

Harry sighed. "That's just hair-splitting."

"She has good humour, and she loves games. Challenge her court to a game. It won't be too serious." Iwain said, his voice almost a whisper and partially muffled by his coat. Luna's brows furrowed, and she shook her head.

"Even if I don't know that much old laws, _I know that you can't avoid taking a debt of favour at all_. Is it worth it? Is the coat worth that much?" Luna took a step closer and knelt in front of Iwain, intent on facing him. "Isn't it better to have a hundred other coats instead?"

Hermione and Harry stared at each other in surprise. Luna was rarely so focused on anything; gone was the familiar distracted look from her eyes.

This time, it was Iwain who raised his head to meet all of their gaze, a smile flitted on his lips. "No other coat is the same coat my mother gave me on my birthday. Please, don't look so dire. It's not as if I would lose my life—well, none of you would ask for my life as a favour, right?"

He chuckled dryly at his own expense, and no one else said a word.

"Besides, I did say that I have gifts worthy of your effort. Harry, Luna, Hermione; will you help me? I swear on my family and my magic that if you help me on this errand, I will owe you each a _favour_."

'-ᵒδʘ

It took Iwain some time to be able to get up on Gringolet only with the help of his left arm. He was too easily embarrassed if they tried to help him that in the end, Harry, Hermione and Luna could only watch with a worried eye. Iwain was nimble for someone of his size with only one working arm; he managed to climb quickly enough before Hermione or anyone else felt pressed to help him again, lest he tumbled down by accident.

"I still think you're mad," Hermione said. Luna handed Iwain his hat that had fallen off, and he took it graciously from her.

"Thank you, Luna. Everyone, I am in your debt," he said gaily, and all the weight that seemed to have pressed down on the boy with chestnut curls was now gone. "I'll come every day, and in case you decide not to take the request, I'll just keep trying until my birthday. I still have another week until then."

"I'll take it. I'll help you," Harry said. Hermione looked distressed.

"Harry!"

"You don't have to do it if you don't want to, Hermione," Luna said. "I'll help, Iwain. So don't do anything stupid anymore. You know that your efforts are not going to work."

Hermione sighed. She wasn't about to let her friends go alone. "I'll help you only if you promise not to do anything foolish in the meantime."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Iwain said, still grinning. "Gramercy! And I hope I see you in good health tomorrow!"

With that, Gringolet turned and leapt, all gleaming black fur and ripples of strong muscle. The boy and his trusty mount sped away from Finhowe.

'-ᵒδʘ

Harry was smiling no less widely than Iwain did before, as was Luna who was clearly humming an old tune. It reminded Hermione somehow of the time when the hills were pristine, and men few and mostly unseen. It was mostly about the endless sea of forest and the people who raised their halls in the heartwood. Harry was lightly tapping his foot to the beat.

"Oh, alright. You know I can't leave you alone in good conscience! This doesn't mean that I think it's a good idea at all," Hermione grumbled, but in a much better humour than she had been before.

"We're not going to rush headlong into anything," Harry assured her.

"I'm going to the library and I _would_ tell on you in if anyone is climbing any hills alone right now."

Luna laughed. "Of course not, Hermione. I agree with you. It is unwise to go without preparation."

As Hermione and Harry started to walk back, Luna lingered there for a while, fixated on some unknown object on the ground. Hermione paused and looked back at her friend; the blonde witch was poking something among the snow with a stick she had just picked up.

"Luna?"

"Hmm?"

"You're coming back with us, right?"

"Oh, right! Of course," she stepped away, shaking her head from whatever it was that seemed to have held her the previous moment. Luna followed them soon enough, but once in a while her gaze lingered back to the spot of their odd meeting. Afterwards, she would find their footsteps interesting more than once, her attention drifting away in more than one conversation. Since she didn't say anything more, Hermione and Harry were inclined to shrug it off. She was mostly just humming the same tune to herself. This time, Hermione could catch snippets of the lyrics.

_Eyes alight, star bright, there goes the lady white,  
>To the hall most hame, her suitors came,<br>To bask in her light, fair presence in sight,  
>To win, to lose, matters not the same, <em>

'-ᵒδʘ

* * *

><p>'-<p>

**Author's End Note: **It is probably pretty obvious that I ate too much folklore.


	4. 03 The Finhowe Arc II

**Author's Note**: A mild food poisoning and being out of town prevented me from uploading this last week. The next update is either next week or another fortnight (clue: it would be faster, if I'm not poisoned again). If anyone is wondering about the rating, it's PG-13 for certain, implicit… stuff. A preemptive apology here; I'm sorry if some of the characters let slip a more modern lingo than is appropriate for mid-twentieth century. I've cut down the ones I do notice, but since I'm not actually a linguist specialising in that era, some mistakes might still pass unnoticed. Corrections are welcome, though.

Well, moving on, the plot thickens…

**Update 06/05/2012: **I've been enjoying what few reviews I have (to anyone enjoying the story so far, please, please review...). To anyone wondering about James, as in Harry's younger brother and his role in the future, there's only one clue I'm going to give: check their birthdates and think about it. My lips are sealed any further than that.

'-

**0****3****: ****The Finhowe Arc II**

'**-**

_- Pottersborough – The Silver Tap -_

Teatime had just passed in Pottersborough and the three of them were finally pulled out of the library. Hermione had absent-mindedly bid goodbye to the big white bird that seemed content to always hang about by the windows, people watching (she suspected that he was a _family familiar_, maybe from the Potter branch of Harry's family, maybe from the Blacks. Not that she had any time to look that up yet). Just when she was readying herself to start mulling over Iwain's request carefully and head back to the library, Harry's mother walked up to her. With a mesmerising flourish out of the folds of black lace, Dorea Potter pulled out a magical artefact.

It was a beautiful instrument that she had just handed to Hermione. It gleamed impartial and ruthless, all the way from the serpentine curve of its shiny silver tap on one end that tapered into a needle too large for comfort. If Hermione wasn't in the warm drawing room, cosily reading a book while Harry and Luna was discussing certain techniques of broom flight some distance away, she would've taken three steps back from the strange instrument.

"It's very expertly wrought, isn't it?" Aunt Dorea said as she lifted Hermione's hand to prompt the younger witch to examine. "There; there are Celtic knots etched all over."

"What… is this?" Hermione asked, not quite sure if the answer would be a welcome one.

Harry heard his friend's question and his curiosity pulled him over as well.

"Oh, you have a blood tap with you, Mum," Harry said. Seeing Hermione's rather worried look, he continued in a rush. "It's used to draw your blood for medical purposes! It doesn't hurt… much."

Dorea sighed. "_Harry._"

"You rub pain-killing cream on the end before using it," Harry said quickly, "So it's only the pinch that you feel when you first stabbed it into your skin—"

"Interesting choice of words, Harry," Luna said casually. " Stabbity stab. Hmm, sounds _evil_."

Harry winced and Hermione blanched. Dorea took a deep breath and seemed to count numbers in her head. "_Luna._"

"Ooopsies. Sorry, Hermione. It doesn't hurt beyond the first prick. Honest," Luna said cheerfully, completely unaware of what effect she was having. "Just let it slide under your skin."

Before Hermione's imagination could get the better of her, Dorea took over again.

"I'll just demonstrate it to you personally, then. Everyone, please make some space. Minky, can I have an empty glass bottle, please? Thank you." One of the Potter house elfs appeared and proudly presented her mistress with a small glass bottle. Dorea Potter rubbed the bridge of her nose before smiling to everyone. In an instant she had transformed into being fully prepared for a demonstration. In one hand, she held the silver tap. In the other, she had pulled a vial of rust-coloured liquid. Hermione recognized from its viscosity that it was a blood replenishing potion. Dorea took only a sip from it, and then secured it elsewhere on her dress.

"First, the painkilling salve," The dark-haired witch started, and Minky magically appeared from nowhere to hand her mistress the tin container with the ointment. Dorea rubbed it on the palm of her left hand. "There. Now, we have the tap. What do I do with this? I slide it in."

In full view of everyone who couldn't take their eyes away now, Dorea pressed the tip of the needle against her skin. She started slowly at first before adding pressure (Minky simulating a drumroll by beating on a table didn't help much). With just a dot of red appearing, the surface of the skin broke and the tap's syringe end went two inch into her flesh. Hermione's face was a grimace now, and Dorea shook her head to assure her.

"No, it doesn't hurt anymore at this point, and I'm not saying this just to make you feel better. So, what do we do after this? We withdraw the blood, of course, and this is where this empty bottle that Minky has so kindly procured for us—" at this point, Minky bowed proudly. Harry clapped, and the others followed suit for a moment. "This is where Minky's empty bottle will be useful. Minky, would you please hold the bottle?"

Like magician and assistant from Hermione's summer memories, Harry's mother and Minky the house elf moved in perfect synchrony. As Dorea took a step back, Minky took a step forward to raise the bottle above her head. When Dorea extended her left arm out, a silver tap jutting like bizarre digits from the palm of her hand, the mouth of the tap rests exactly inside the bottle's neck.

"Now, for the final and painless process,"

Her right hand spun the tap open and red blood flowed gently into the bottle, thick and drippy, until she closed it again.

'-

"I think I'm going to be sick," Hermione complained.

"Well, when the tap's already in, it doesn't really hurt anymore," Harry said. "Though I could see your point though. Whenever my mother needs to do that to take some of my blood to be checked at the healer, I close my eyes so I don't have to see."

Dorea Potter held the small bottle of her blood swinging in one hand, the same one that she had just rubbed Murtlap essence to. There was concern in her voice as she seated herself beside Hermione. "Oh dear, I didn't really managed to convince you on how practical this is, did I?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. At least, not yet. I don't understand why you have to bring the tap out in the first place."

Luna raised her hand in the air with gusto, "Ooh, I know! I stuck the tap into my hand this morning to update the Potter wards, so I guess you'd have to do the same, Hermione."

"Update the Potter wards?" Hermione asked, curious.

"To recognise you," Dorea helpfully added. "So we need a couple of spoonful of your blood on every stone. It adds up to a significant amount, hence the need for the blood-replenisher. Not all people do it to every single ward stone. It would still work even if you only drip the main stones, but it's not as secure."

It would seem that it was an unavoidable task indeed. Hermione turned to Luna, whose attention was now back to _Magical Creature Sightings Around the World_ that she had been holding before.

"How many blood-replenishing potions did you need?"

"Three," Luna said. "But that's because we have to go round to Finhowe as well. I don't want to prolong it any longer than necessary, you see, because even if you could do it without the potions you have to spread the updating over a couple of weeks and maybe months. It's a chore and a bore."

Hermione bit her lip as she faced Dorea again, who was looking completely sympathetic at this point. "Do I need to use the tap?"

"Well, you could do it the old-fashioned way. A silver knife and a clump of oakheart moss to staunch the blood between the flows, and you'd need to score your skin again if the previous wound had started to close."

The brunette scrunched her forehead into a disbelieving frown. "A clump of _moss_?"

"It's antiseptic," Luna said, her nose still in her book. "But I'm sure you know that too. It's in Bairs' whatsitname herb book."

"Angela Bair's _Annales Regimen est Herbas et Potiones_," Hermione supplied automatically, missing Harry's envious glance.

"Yes, Bairs' whatsitname, herbs and potions book; the Bairs whatsitname." Luna replied without care, while Hermione winced at her preferred nickname for the tome. Harry smiled.

"Or of course, you could just use the tap," Harry said. He might've sounded a little too cheerful, because Hermione sent him a pointed look.

"And do _you_ have to do that too, Harry?"

"What, me? Mum only needs to update the wards once a year for me. That only needs a small bottle, and I can close my eyes whenever Mum uses the tap. The largest work was done when I was born already." Harry said, completely carefree.

Hermione frowned. "You were bled as a _baby_?"

"Nah, there's the afterbirth for that." Harry replied. "I don't even know what it looks like. Mum, what does it look like?"

"A big lump of bloody flesh. It's mostly blood and the like." Luna said thoughtlessly, missing the way Harry gulped.

"So," Dorea Potter cut in, "Unless you still have _your_ afterbirth, Hermione, you're stuck with these for now. So what would it be? The tap, or the knife?"

'-

Hermione finished another bottle of blood-replenishing potion, a silver tap inserted in her left hand as she walked under the cloudy night sky. It felt odd, but the pain-killing salve did it work. There was a slight discomfort whenever she moved her hand too much, but it was nothing like pain. _I guess I can imagine what a beer keg feels like_, she thought absently. She followed behind Dorea Potter's narrow-waisted figure and the swish of her black dress as they cross the snow-covered grounds. At first, Dorea asked Hermione whether it wouldn't be more practical to go on a broom, but Hermione had steadfastly shook her head. One uncomfortable experience at a time was enough for her. Her imagination really doesn't need to be given more ideas about broom flight and silver taps.

"It's going to take several days this way," Dorea said with a sigh. "Are you _sure_ you don't want me to get a broom now? We can portkey back to the house, you know."

"No, Aunt Dorea. I'm alright with doing this for several days."

The older witch sighed again. "Alright. It's your choice. Well, at the very least, we could finish Finhowe today."

"Anyway, why did we start with Finhowe instead of Pottersborough?" Hermione asked.

"Pottersborough first? Seriously? No, it's never a good idea to start with Pottersborough first unless you have a whole day, or a horse," she paused. "Wait, how about we go around tomorrow with a horse? We don't have pegasii stables here, but there are still horses."

Hermione shook her head again. "I don't know how to ride a horse."

"We'll have to fix that soon," the dark-haired witch said. It was more of a determination in her voice than a point for discussion.

"So, is this the last stone?" Hermione hoped that was enough to distract the conversation for a while, and Dorea took the smaller path Hermione had trudged on. It was simple enough; a sizeable cylindrical stone half set on the ground strangely devoid of snow on top. It had grooves on its surface—grooves that Hermione now knew to be channels. Its sides seem to be inscribed with at least two types of runes. Dorea knelt beside it, and melted the snow around it, showing the smaller stones set around its orbit.

"That's rather observant of you, Hermione. Yes, this is the last stone." Dorea knelt on the ground and melted the snow over the stone, uncovering the smaller stones set around its orbit. Hermione thought it was a shame that she said the spell quietly that Hermione didn't know what she used. It certainly did not seem to be as flashy as an _Incendio_. She was sure she didn't see any fires.

Dorea continued. "When we're done with this, you can easily enter Finhowe from any other place, whether by floo or by portkey. You don't even need to be escorted by anyone with Potter blood or Potter seal with them."

Hermione didn't know what is it that Harry's mother had just said, but it sent a jolt of recognition inside her. She extended her left hand completely by reflex at this point as her thoughts ran wildly in other directions. Her right hand steadied itself on top of the tap, ready to open it at the first sign.

"I can now enter the grounds alone? As in, I can walk into the grounds from the outside, right?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," Dorea nodded.

"And the wards won't repel me," Hermione said slowly, making sure her words weren't misheard.

"Exactly."

Hermione waited until Dorea did the necessary preparations and spells before trickling her blood on the stone. For once she wasn't too occupied with thoughts of a silver tap stabbed into her hand, or the amount of blood gushing out of it. Her mind was elsewhere even as she closed her eyes, feeling the tingle of momentary magical connection with the wards before the tap stopped its flow again.

_How on earth did Iwain get in?_

'-

"Harry!" Hermione hissed. She wasn't quite willing to raise her voice in the sanctity of a library as she pushed the large double doors inward. She was lucky that Harry and Luna were at the sitting area near the door, saving her the effort of looking around. Her friends stood up the moment she entered, and if Hermione was paying more attention, she would see that they hadn't been reading while they were waiting for her.

"Look, there's something I need to tell you," Hermione said. Harry looked relieved at once, as one whose wait had just ended.

"You arrived just in time. We were about to set off to Finhowe, but we didn't know how we'd leave a message to you without tipping James off." Harry seemed fidgety on his feet, his hand held a firm grip on his wand.

"It's about Iwain," Hermione said.

"Luna had something interesting to show regarding that friend of ours too. We should go while it's not snowing," Harry said. The three of them moved briskly towards the stairs to the second level, now only intent on reaching the small rounded door on top of a certain shelf in the corner. Hermione fell in step with Harry easily, a sense of urgency in her voice.

"I don't know how he did it, but _he bypassed the Potter wards_. Your mother would've noticed if it's broken, and it's not. Yet we all know that Iwain got in. That's something to watch out for," Hermione said.

Harry frowned. "_What?_"

"Yes. It's not as if you invited Iwain in, right? Did someone else in the house invite him? Did James?" Hermione asked back. "How did enter otherwise? Harry, you'd know if he was actually a relative, right?"

Harry and Hermione shared a wary look. Whatever happened, it did not bode well.

"I don't think he's malicious in any way," Luna's voice broke the tense silence.

"Really? Why would anyone without ill-will purposefully circumvent the ward to enter a house instead of just knocking on the front door?" Hermione said.

A light dawned on the blonde's face even while her friends were still very much confused.

"Because he didn't _need_ to." Luna answered with certainty. "That's it! Hermione, I didn't know about the wards, but I did saw something interesting that didn't understand until this evening. I think answers your question too."

"What?"

Luna shook her head. "If we could all go to Finhowe, things would be clearer. I'm not saying anything for now. As they say, seeing is believing. I'd rather have you see it for yourself."

'-

_- Finhowe -_

The trek through Pottersborough's attic happened in a rush, as the three of them had all but run around the old chests, the broken wardrobes, folded up tables and the occasional museum-worthy display like the gargantuan door slabs Hermione had seen earlier and the dinosaur bones (whether they were only a replica or not, Hermione had yet to find out). Harry yanked the fabric covering the portal aside and jumped headlong into the gloopy archway. Before the portal had settled, Hermione shut her eyes and followed not long after. She didn't think she'd ever get used to the cold gooey feeling of the partially-active door leaving phantasmal slime on her skin, but she wasn't going to wait too long to be too far behind everyone.

"_Lumos_," Hermione cast, and everyone else did so too not long after that. They crossed Finhowe's attic to the trapdoor leading downstairs, dark but for the glow of their wands. It was a different place to the bright and simple rooms they could see during daytime. Even the light-coloured wood of the staircase was just a hazy greyness. The wallpaper beside them were the familiar duck egg blue, with a simple repetition of odd circles and curlicues on the border that seemed to waver and dance under the shimmering wand lights.

"The lights need to be replaced here," Hermione commented absently. Her friends nodded and made various sounds of agreement to that while they descended the stairs. A short hurried walk later, Hermione turned the handle of the door, and all three of them were out among the hills of Finhowe, under the twinkling stars.

'-ᵒδʘ -ᵒδʘ -ᵒδʘ -ᵒδʘ -ᵒδʘ -ᵒδʘ -ᵒδʘ

_- Pottersborough – On Charlus' DADA Class -_

"Dorea, I remembered something interesting about the Defence class I had to teach yesterday!"

"You've said that before, Charlus," Dorea said, noticing that in his spirited rush, Charlus hadn't hung his hat or his coat. He dropped himself on the sofa next to her, and she curled up against him without a thought, taking his hat off and placing it on the table. She would have to place it on the hatrack herself because he didn't seem to remember.

"Yes, but I forgot to tell you what it was exactly, right?" With that self-satisfied grin on his face, for a moment Charlus looked much younger, as if only several years out of Hogwarts again. Dorea couldn't stop her lips curving up at the edges. His high spirit was contagious.

"And you rushed all the way home for that?" Dorea asked.

"Well, Adrian wasn't in the mood to lose money. He said Maggie was going to give him hell if he played cards again this month," Charlus said. "I was inclined to be magnanimous."

Dorea didn't restrain her chuckles, slowly full laughter to fall from her red lips. "Magnanimous! You? I find that hard to believe."

"Why so hard to believe? I place the children above another round of a friendly game, so I rushed home."

"_Right_," she smiled, but didn't voice the rest of her thoughts. "So, what was the very important thing that you've just remembered now?" _And Merlin help me that I don't regret allowing you to teach the Defence_, Dorea thought.

"You see, you're wrong in not allowing me to teach the children the more advanced spells—"

"Charlus, we've been through this argument _before_."

"—no, really! Look, Harry managed to do the Patronus Charm in one session!"

Dorea took a deep breath and tried to remind herself that her husband did this without any ill-intent. She reminded herself that he didn't really consider the experience of trying out several high-level spells and failing most, if not all, of them might be highly detrimental for the children's spirit. He simply believed that all his kids were extraordinarily gifted, and sometimes extending that view to his friends' children as well.

"If he managed to send out a solid shape of light out, that is already much more advanced than many kids his age. Yes, I think Harry is quite talented, but I don't think it counts as a proper execution of a Patronus Charm that would help him pass his _OWLs_."

Charlus shook his head, that ear-to-ear grin of I-know-something-you-don't-know now only getting wider. As much as Dorea didn't want to admit it, it was starting to vex her the way it used to during their Hogwarts years. No matter how handsome her friends kept saying that he was, it didn't lessen the itch she had to hex that stupid grin out of his face. It was never that bad anymore, now that they're married, but sometimes, the itch was vaguely there.

"His patronus is a _stag_, Dorea. A full-fledged adult _stag_."

"Charlus—"

"I'm not lying. It was a stag. It went around proudly, sniffing the air for threats, before returning back to Harry. He was as gobsmacked as everyone else!"

Dorea opened her mouth to complain about something else, but no words come out. She was staring at her husband in disbelief. Charlus was still giddy.

"And the two girls! They're not there yet, but you wouldn't think twice on tutoring them further because their charm is pretty solid at this stage. It's not _mist_, it's something. Two animals already. Hermione's is something four-legged, Luna's seem to be a bird."

"I never… I don't think…"

"I don't think we saw anything like that in our years in Hogwarts," Charlus said proudly.

"You haven't bragged about it to your friends at your club, have you?" Dorea asked in a hurry, sitting upright all of a sudden.

"What? Why shouldn't I?"

"Charlus, _please_, just answer the question," she said, before muttering, "I dearly hope you _didn't_."

He waggled his eyebrows, heightening the tension high enough that Dorea was sure any second longer and she would've placed her wand on the table to avoid giving in to the temptation of hexing him. Charlus was thankfully a little more mature to know better than riling up his wife. He kissed her forehead.

"Of course I didn't Dearest. Why spoil the fun of having them grill me once they heard the news from their own kids once the kids are in Hogwarts?"

Dorea let out a sigh of relief as she leaned back on the sofa. Charlus pulled her closer to him.

"That _is_ one reason, Charlus, but there's also another one I want to avoid."

"What's that?"

"Have you thought that once home, your friends will at least tell their wives about it, if not writing to their children as well on the matter? Then once Harry, Hermione and Luna are in Hogwarts, they'd be rushed with too many people who wanted to be their _friends_."

"It's not anything strange to encounter. Harry _is_ the Potter heir," he replied blithely.

Dorea rolled her eyes at her husband's assurance. Sometimes she wondered how he didn't experience school the same way she did, if he also came from a family that was just as old. "It doesn't make it any more pleasant to Harry if he couldn't even make a few real friends before the pureblood hounds try to grab him in the usual round of politics."

'-

_- Finhowe – Luna's Tracks -_

"When are we supposed to be home, Luna?" Hermione asked, finishing another warming charm. She didn't quite like the prospect since the interval between the charms had gotten closer and closer. It could mean one of two things and neither was good. First, either the air had gotten colder or the wind sharper, or secondly, her energy levels had been dipping down all this time. It sort-of explained the half-hungry feeling she had. She needed to eat soon—scratch that, she was sure all three of them needed to eat soon. If only she remembered to bring a picnic basket now.

"Not until another hour," Luna answered, as the three of them did their best to make out the lay of the land. "By the way, are we lost?"

"No!" Harry said from a little ahead of them. Hermione exchanged a glance with Luna before the two of them burst into chuckles. Harry turned around with a peeved look.

"What is it?"

"You sound exactly like my father when you said that," Hermione said, and then she pitched her voice lower. "'We're not lost, Sophia! We're just a little off the main road.' That was an hour before we actually manage to find the Beauxbatons Paris office."

"Well, we're not," Harry insisted. "The ditch that Iwain fell in is in the valley between two hills. We're already in the valley. We're close."

"Alright, but another half an hour of this, and we're going back by portkey. I don't want anyone to ever have to look for us just because we're not home in time." Hermione said, staving off any further replies from Harry.

"Heey, I know this tree…" Luna murmured. Harry and Hermione followed her around an old bent oak and its bristly profusion of branches.

"We were here just before we heard Iwain scream," Harry said. "That would mean—"

"—It's that way," Hermione finished with a smile.

"What do you know, we _are_ close." Luna said, skipping forward in the said direction.

"See, we're not lost. I know we're not lost…" Harry muttered.

'-ᵒδʘ

"So, what are we looking for, Luna?"

"Tracks," Luna said, oblivious to the confused expressions on Harry and Hermione.

"Tracks of the wolfdog?" Harry asked. A small smile grew on the blonde's face as she kept her head bent down, keen on taking in the details among the broken twigs and stepped-in snow.

"Not quite," she replied. Her friends gave up on waiting for a clearer answer and followed suit. Hermione wasn't quite sure what it was that she had to look for, while Harry was the first one to just shake his head and gave up.

"I don't know what you're talking about. There's only animal tracks here. I can say that now we know for sure how absurdly _gigantic_ Gringolet's paws are, and that there have been some squirrels here. Also, those over there might be a rare deer, even if it's a bit unclear. But what are you looking for?"

"Exactly!" Luna glowed with excitement and she clasped her hands together. "You got it, Harry!"

"I got _what_?" Harry was still as befuddled as before. Luna asked again.

"What of Iwain's footsteps?"

Harry's eyes widened as he turned his eyes back on the ground while Luna hummed that odd folksy tune she had been singing these last few days. Hermione followed the conversation between her two friends with a resigned confusion, accepting the fact that her tracking abilities weren't as high as Harry's whose father had a penchant for hunting.

"He has _no footsteps_."

Harry's subdued voice raised goosebumps at the back of Hermione's neck as he walked around with his eyes on the ground, looking for something else. "There are no signs of his presence at all! What are you saying, Luna? That he's a ghost?"

_A ghost?_ Hermione thought. Yet it would explain some things…

Luna shook her head. "No, Harry. You're only looking at the obvious. If he's a ghost, then Gringolet shouldn't have any tracks as well. Iwain had been petting him, tussling with him and riding him all the time. Yet you found Gringolet's tracks, right? That means you missed Iwain's footsteps."

"His arm was hurt," Harry murmured. "Why did he fell and yet hurt his arm and not his leg? What are the odds of that?"

Hermione mulled over Harry's words and recalled this afternoon's meeting. Luna lead them away and crouched down on one corner, her grey eyes bright with excitement. She couldn't stop pulling on the edges of her gloves. Hermione followed to see what the blonde witch was trying to point out to them, among the broken branches and trodden snow, the pebbles and stones and the animal tracks.

"Here, _look_," Luna said.

She continued, "What you saw wasn't a deer's track, Harry. This is a goat's."

"A goat track," Hermione thought out loud. _Footsteps_. She furrowed her brows for a second before her brown eyes lit up. "Luna, you have a sharp eye! And Harry, his legs weren't hurt because they're strong enough. If his arm _was_ hurt, then I could imagine that he had tried to hang on to something as he fell, or he broke his fall wrongly. _He's a satyr!_"

"A satyr," Harry muttered, not quite believing it.

"Your family's newest wards are have always been updated on top of the oldest ones, right?" Hermione asked.

"I think so. Yes, father said about how an ancestor de Poitier's framework was built to last so there was no need to replace it, anyway."

Hermione was on a roll, as memories of books she had read rise up to the forefront of her mind. There were also memories of some books that technically she hadn't quite read _now_ but already did _then_. In a when that was never had been. "Well in that case, we know that some wizards of old are prejudiced against the 'magical beasts'. What if the wards were never meant to keep animals out in the first place, especially not those deemed as dangerous? The land would have lacked creatures to be hunted if the wards repelled everything living but _plants_."

"I don't think the plants would survive for long without insects either," Luna added. Hermione nodded to that easily.

"Animals and 'magical creatures' would pass your wards easily," Hermione said, making air quotations with her fingers. Harry's eyes widened as he understood what she was saying clearly.

"So Iwain had never had any problem walking in and out," Harry said.

Hermione nodded. "Precisely. It's ironic, actually; if he hadn't managed to walk in, he wouldn't have lost his coat in the first place."

"I still think we should help him, the poor guy. He needs that coat for his birthday and he's going to keep at it, even if he keeps failing too," Luna said.

"What do you think, Harry?" Hermione asked. "The wards would notice an attack if he was malicious, but I don't like not knowing anything about the White Lady."

"Not _yet_. We haven't searched the libraries for anything. I've always heard stories about her, though. It's only that I never knew that they weren't just stories." Luna corrected.

"I'll help him," Harry said. "He had gladly took the risk of owing us a debt of favour—like he said, we could've easily asked for his life. It's important to him, that much is certain. If we succeed, he'll owe each of us one favour each, right? Then I'll use mine to know the truth."

'-ᵒδʘ

_- Pottersborough – Double Duelling Class with Theo and Charlus -_

Harry wanted to learn duelling. His mother was against him learning something that might make him more reckless when he was 'not old enough'. It annoyed him that she wouldn't even answer his question as to when exactly he would be old enough for it clearly. He might not be obsessively academic the way Hermione is, but for the few things he deemed important, he was prepared to do a _lot_. So Harry planned to ask his father instead, who had always gone along with any crazy scheme he had.

'-

Harry knocked the door to his father's study three times, the sound steady and distinct. He waited for another while before he called out.

"Dad, may I come in?"

"Of course you can. Go on."

Harry entered and closed the door behind him soundlessly. Charlus was at his desk, going through his correspondence before looking up at his son. Harry had waited until his father set aside what he was working on before getting to his point.

"Dad, can we have a duelling class, please?"

"You wanted a _what_?" Charlus asked. He sized up his eldest son who kept his hands behind his back, his posture uncharacteristically still and a little too formal. He unconsciously let his smile grew a little wider. Harry knew how to follow the old pureblood politeness if it was going to get him what he wanted.

"A duelling class. We need to learn how to defend ourselves. It's not as if we were completely out of trouble even when we were in Beauxbatons. It makes more sense to learn from an true expert than just winging it out from books, even if they were very good books."

Charlus grinned, wide and rakish this time. He pulled his wand out from its holster, a thirteen inch oak wand that had never let him down in any fight. "You want a _duelling class_."

Harry nodded.

"Hit me with your best spell, Harry. Do it offhand, instead of with your wand hand."

Harry nodded. "_Expelliarmus!_"

Charlus didn't see that coming—not that fast, not with the wand actually in his son's left hand and that Harry's left wrist worked with the fluid speed of a hummingbird's wings. With the element of surprise on Harry's side, Charlus' wand was yanked before he could react. When he turned back to look at his son, he knew that the success was no mere accident. Harry was in a duelling stance, his position steady. The boy had caught his father's wand with a deft hand trained from catching snitches. Even with that done, he did not lower his wand at all, nor his guard. The steadiness of his left arm spoke of someone prepared to thrown another hex or two.

"Done, Dad."

Harry bowed quickly, but still in the proper way to end a duel before handing his father's wand back.

"Does this mean we can have a duelling class, _now_?" Harry asked, with more insistence than he intended.

Charlus laughed at the beligerent tone his son couldn't fully suppress.

"Harry, my boy, that was brilliant! I didn't know you were ambidextrous!"

"No, I wasn't," Harry insisted, shrugging the compliments away as his usual awkwardness surfaced again even as his father slapped him proudly on his back. He was as comfortable in the spotlight as a mole is under sunlight. "I'm right-handed. No, really. Ambidexterity is if my left hand can do most of what my right can do. In this case, that's the best spell I can cast with my left—the others are still slightly off."

"It's still better than what some people could do with their offhand. I still can't believe you actually did that. You wouldn't have gotten past me if I wasn't off my guard." Charlus shook his head.

"Why would you want to attack your enemies when they're on their guard, Dad?" Harry asked, far too glibly for him to be actually unaware of what he way saying. Charlus couldn't help another good chuckle as the two of them walked out of the study.

"That is a _very_ good point. Tell me, where did you learn that move anyway?"

"It's just a good habit," Harry said simply. Charlus raised his eyebrows, but Harry seemed content to leave it at that.

"Good habit? Harry, that's not a proper answer. _Why_ did you even think it's a good habit?"

Harry sighed. "It's good habit to have at least one spell you're really good at that you can cast in your left hand. That way, you're not completely defenceless if the main hand is disabled for one reason or another. It's also a habit that Luna and Hermione developed too, so the three of us pretty much have one best spell we could cast with our offhand, in case of emergencies. We're quite close to managing a second one too and is still working on the third and fourth, though. It's not smooth yet. We've practiced often enough back when we're in Beauxbatons, though."

'-

"And _that's_ why we're going to have a duelling class," Charlus Potter finished explaining in high spirits to his wife in her study. Harry fidgeted beside his father whenever the senior Potter was getting too exuberant in his praise of his son's talent, and even winced once when his father used 'The one genius in a hundred generations'—Harry was sure as good as he was, he wasn't _that_ good. It would be embarassing if his father was going to brag about him continuously to other people—his only consolation was that, at least his father was talking to his mother, and she was far used to his choice of words than any one else. She stopped her husband before he was getting too carried away and turned to her son.

"You said that Hermione and Luna practised with you too?" Dorea asked, her voice neutral and a lot more calming to Harry. He let out the breath he didn't realise he was holding.

"Yes, Mum."

"Where?"

"When we're still in Beauxbatons, of course. Luna's different nature and Hermione's intelligence and straightforwardness invited jibes and unkind pranks. Some people don't like me standing up to them all the time either." Harry answered it all without even batting an eyelash, unconcerned. It was almost as if he had expected it to happen, or if not, didn't expect anyone to interfere. When Dorea didn't answer immediately, he looked up with a little confusion. There was something he couldn't quite understand in his mother's eyes; sadness. But why sadness? He was alright. His friends were alright too. He held his wand firmly, now in his right hand.

"Really, it wasn't such a big deal. We managed. It wasn't such a problem later on, when we were just starting second year. Then, there's this sudden move to England and all. So, Mum, Dad, can't we get a duelling class _now_?"

Charlus seemed to want to accede to it right away, but he noticed how quiet his wife was being and held himself back. He placed an assuring hand behind her waist and she unconsciously leaned against him for support.

"Did you try contacting the teachers?" she asked, turning back to her son.

Harry stared back, his expression for a moment blank. "For what? Oh, _that_. Well, always if it was minor and manageable. But evidences have to be collected and at times people have friends making up alibis for them—no, it happened, really, but it's not much of a problem." He waved it away as if it was nothing.

"Sooner or later, they'd do something as stupid, and without proper planning, and they'd be in trouble. The problem would be if a couple of upper-years tried to corner us. Now that is a pretty pickled situation, but I've mentioned it before. We practised, and when it happened, we could get away pretty quickly and very much unscathed. And yes, we reported them to the teachers later on, Mum, so you don't need to look that worried."

Harry shrugged. It was clear that he couldn't quite understand what concerned her. "It's not as if we go looking for fights, _really_, but I just like to be prepared."

Dorea's brows furrowed deeper, and Harry wanted to walk forward and hold his mother's hand and insist that they really were alright. She didn't have to worry about them. His father beat him to it and Harry sighed softly when he saw her face easing.

"They're still fine, Dorea," Charlus finally said as he turned to her with a smile. He held her hands in his larger ones. "They're fine. I think he had proved himself worthy to actually learn duelling properly and with a real teacher instead of a book for that. They all do. You'll have your class Harry, and I'll teach it with Theo."

Harry beamed, and gave his parents the brightest smile they had seen outside Christmas.

"Thanks Dad!"

Harry jumped up with joy when he heard his father and ran over to hug his parents. He said that he was definitely going to go upstairs and prepare for the class, and tell Hermione and Luna about it. Charlus nodded, still brimming with pride, and then he went to the fireplace to firecall Theo.

'-

Charlus waved at Theo when their conversation ended, promising to meet each other tomorrow. The green fire flickered away and the flame in the fireplace burned orange and yellow again. Dorea was still half lost in thought when she called her husband.

"Charlus?"

"Yes, Dear?"

"Why didn't Harry tell us about it at all when we were still in France?"

"Tell what? Oh, about the problem at school?"

"Yes."

"He's a boy, he wants to solve his own problems. I think he did that very well too. There's nothing to worry about, really. There are nice kids and there are nasty ones, but they're all still kids," He said. Dorea nodded, but she didn't voice the doubt that was still hanging at the back of her head, telling her that she was still missing something about the children—things they left out from their stories.

'-

"And that's why you asked me to be present?" Artemis Lovegood asked. Dorea nodded. The Lovegoods had come over with Hermione, for the class that Charlus was now confident they deserved to learn about. They were outside, sitting on couches conveniently placed by the house elfs there, bundled in their coats and with warming charms on them. As such, the still biting and unfriendly wind of the last wave of winter was ignored by all alike. The two witches both had a cosy mug of hot cocoa in hand as they watched Charlus and Theophilus observe and correct the children's (including James—he didn't want to be left out) basic stances.

"And if you're good enough, you should be able to move from one position to another without affecting your overall balance much." Charlus said. He moved with a fluidity that many could only aspire to, his hair messed-up by the wind but made him no less handsome. It brought a smile to Dorea's face as she remembered the laid-back yet confident Gryffindor she had first met in her school days who wasn't deterred by her sharp tongue.

Theo let out a sigh as he corrected the children—all four of them. If he was turning his head back and forth any faster, someone was going to suffer whiplash from his braids. "No, we're not going to cover any fancy footwork yet, children. Charlus, _please_. We've got to make sure they have the foundations right before anything too fancy or they'd be all show and no hit in a duel."

Artemis laughed. It lessened the creases on Theo's brows that were beginning to develop as he gave her a wan smile in return.

"Yes, Charlus, stick to the basics, please." Dorea called out, and her husband gave her a disappointed look as he went back to the expected part of the principles.

The lessons continued in more or less that pattern—they would be going through some basic motions when Charlus would break out of the mould by showing something impressive and incredibly complicated. Theo would sigh (again) and would shout something like—

"James, don't even try it. You wouldn't manage. Charlus, please for the love of Merlin _don't._ Look here James, you first need to master eight basic wand movements well even when you've just woken up in the morning with eyes half-closed before you can execute something at this level."

"Well, there's really no harm for him in trying, is there?" Charlus asked. Theo groaned.

"_Charlus__…_"

"Luna, look!" Charlus was all excitement, and he would begin with the spell again as Theo emitted a long-suffering sigh akin to mortally wounded animals. Thus, the cycle begin anew.

Charlus would repeat the spell while Theo would go and tell Luna that she wouldn't be able to do it in a day, much less try some variations of it, so _don't even try_; or tell Hermione that there was no use memorizing the most complicated ones now because it was certainly a lot more practical to just read it out of the relevant books, and he certainly knew which ones they're in; or to tell Harry that he should stop trying to copy it immediately because even if he was able to do it once by accident, there is no way to tell if he would be able to do it again later. By all standards, it was going pretty well, actually, if one were to accept the squabbling teachers as part of the package.

On one particularly prolonged disagreement on stances, Harry was even bored enough to ask Hermione, and then Luna, to exchange a few spells with him, just to test it out. Then, the four kids split off to do their own mock-duels. It wasn't until Artemis and Dorea was laughing too hard to hide that their husbands realised what their charges were doing.

"Err, alright, break up, kids. So where were we?" Charlus asked, slightly flustered.

"Stances?" Hermione said with a raised eyebrow. It was one of Sophia's distinct expressions she had managed to copy well, one that meant that she 'wasn't amused by the horsing around', or 'can we all act like grown-ups now?'

So they returned to stances, by which another argument broke out as the Charlus and Theophilus disagreed on who was the more prominent source of mediaeval wizarding duelling practice, and thus, which stance they should actually try to instil. Luna was fighting back a smile at this point while Harry had gave up on them and sat down on the grass regardless of Hermione's _looks_ at him. James followed his older brother without question, of course, and added his own belligerence that he was rolling in the thin grass at this point.

Artemis pointedly cleared her throat.

"Uh, well…" Charlus started.

"We can move on to some of the charms, hexes and jinxes," Theophilus said quickly, saving Charlus from having to come up with any answer. "You could teach Harry and James, while I'll handle Luna and Hermione."

The kids exchanged sceptical glances with each other, before splitting up and following the two adults separately. Charlus tried teaching Harry and James some of his signature curses; Theo decided on some versatile charms. Luna and Hermione were doing fine—Harry and James were not. Charlus took a deep breath. The spell he was trying to teach Harry was probably a little too-complicated when Harry stared him down with a tired look after the fifth attempt. Especially when Harry seemed to be trying to let him down softly by saying that he would practice that later on. James had wandered off and was asking Hermione and Luna about what they were studying and they both tried to show him what they just did. The only problem was that, the two witches seemed to disagree as to how one should approach the charm and they only ended up confusing poor James.

"I think, we should just teach them separately next time," Theo said to Charlus, kindly.

"You were both doing fine!" Dorea raised her cup to both wizards. Theo and Charlus exchanged glances one before giving her the evil eye for such obvious mirth.

"As this afternoon's entertainment, very much so," Charlus replied, an affronted look on his face. Dorea bit the inside of her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

"But we're _not_ a success as a class. We may still be imparting some knowledge to them, but this is definitely not very efficient." Theo replied with an indrawn breath. The kids had also turned their pleading faces to Dorea and Artemis, almost begging to be saved that Artemis couldn't stifle another chuckle from coming out as the two witches stood up and placed their cups aside.

"You know, on the problem of the stances, I'd say that you're both right," Dorea said. "What you forgot to address earlier was the _purpose_ of each stance. _Razzini's_ style is well-adjusted for fighting in small alleys and confined spaces—"

"—basically for city affairs, especially if there are signs that your enemy isn't playing fair and definitely has friends hidden all over the place all out for your hide—" Hermione finished, a half-dazed look on her face.

Everyone turned to her, surprised. Dorea even more so. Hermione blushed and lowered her head. "I, uh, just felt as if I've read it somewhere. I didn't realise I was saying it out loud."

"Well, good for you. Perhaps it would be better if you actually remembered which books you've been reading out of. _Razzini's tenets_ are as unconventional as they come, but you have to admit that he has his own merits, Charlus," Dorea said. Her husband wasn't looking too amused right now, but Theo nodded his own thanks and appreciation for giving weight to his position. She nodded back and continued.

"_Alambert's_ _principles_ are more applicable in conventional duelling, and I have to admit that in that context, I have not seen a better approach to the art than his. I've been applying everything I could get from his texts when I was still an active duellist." Charlus brightened at her support, but he was unaware of how Harry was holding back a sigh, nor how Theo was only half-nodding along. "But there are definitely problems when one considers _fights_ as well as _duels_."

Dorea smiled and let Charlus let loose his defence of Alambert, and waited until Theo began to formulate a counter-argument. She exchanged glances with Artemis, and in that moment of understanding the decided to execute the plan they had talked about earlier. Her blonde friend took the moment to gather the children to her side and continued the previously-aborted lesson a little farther away. Preferrably _much_ farther away. Dorea waited until Charlus and Theo had calmed down a little.

"I think you should both still teach duelling." Dorea said, and she raised a hand to forestall further comments. "Not now. Not until you've agreed on what you're going to teach; and certainly not until you can both run a class together without devolving into a personal debate to the exclusion of everyone else."

She sighed when Theo seemed contrite and Charlus snorted before giving her a helpless shrug.

"I'm not saying you're not good at teaching, don't take it that way—you are, you both are. You just need to approach the class as _teaching the children several approaches at once, to be applied in different circumstances_. Really, Charlus, I would've thought that Harry's story of what he faced in Beauxbaton would've informed you enough that your rivals aren't always going to follow the rules—and don't ask me about it now, Theo, I don't know all the details. I suggest you ask Artemis and Luna for clarification."

Dorea paused, trying to calm herself down and to keep her voice level. This is where she had to tread delicately.

"But that's what my point is about. There are duels and there are _fights_. I'm sure you would know what defending against greater numbers and larger people meant in your case, Theo. I recall that you were one of the smaller Ravenclaws in your year, you've always kept your hair traditionally long, and you've always been a bit more on the beautiful side than handsome."

Theo winced. Dorea held herself back from biting her lip by apologizing to him that she had to bring it up at all (Theo _had_ been kind of pretty, at least until he hit sixth year, and even then he didn't change by much). She tried to ease it a bit.

"That's what Artemis _loved_ about you. You could take three wizards in a cunning fight, but I've never seen you raise your wand if it wasn't to defend yourself. You're a natural mediator than anything, and that was how you solved your problems," Dorea said. _Unlike Charlus_, she thought, but not unkindly. It was more of an observation than any judgement. She could see that Theo's jaws were still slightly tense.

"You always choose to talk if you're not pressed to fight…"

Charlus blanched as he realised what his wife was implying. Theo would've been the perfect target for certain types of boys.

"Merlin, Theo, I never realised. I would've knocked some sense to some idiots if you said so..."

"Oh, _shut up_, Charlus. You're not my guvnor and I'm perfectly capable of defending myself." Theo said, quite embarrassed enough. Dorea couldn't help the sympathetic blush she felt was rising on her face when she realised her husband had no idea of what his friend had been through all these years. _At all._ She rubbed the bridge of her nose, trying to wish away the headache. It gave a new meaning to what she thought was his characteristic Gryffindor denseness. Dorea sighed. _Charlus really needs to learn when it's better to keep his mouth shut_.

"Dorea, I'm sorry if I hadn't been delicate enough. Perhaps you'd like to rest for a while?" He said, hinting that she might like to retire from the conversation and the unsavory topic.

She sniffed and gave him a warning look. She was a _Black_. Her family was not one to mince words and avoid the truth. "_Please_, Charlus. I knew it all these years before you did. I know exactly what I'm talking about and I am completely fine with that."

She could see that Charlus was still distinctly uncomfortable, but tried to come to terms with it. It didn't take long—there were more than one similar instances after they were married, after all.

The blond wizard muttered in a more hushed tone after that. "I thought I've buried that far enough."

"But you were proficient magically and physically—even if most wouldn't be able to imagine it." Dorea said softly. "I know about it when Yaxley was limping all week once, and Mrs. Huxley said he 'deserved it'. She didn't vanish the bruises, or heal it beyond the important bits when he went to the infirmary."

Her gaze still more fixed on her hands than anywhere else. Really, she was a confident woman, but there was something that felt wrong about intruding on her friend when he was trying not to think about something private. Still, she had to build her case now. For the sake of her kids.

"I'm sure there are others that aren't as fortunate as you. I don't want our children to be one of the less fortunate. Please, Theo, you can teach this class with Charlus, can't you?"

Charlus was looking away as well as he tugged on his cuffs. "Now I know why you swear by Razzini. Those buggers wouldn't know what hit—"

"_Drop it_." Theo's voice was firm, with a slight edge in it. For once Dorea could see a hardness hidden under the usually gentle grey eyes.

Charlus respect for his friend was clear from the speed he clammed up as quickly as he had started. Theo still had one hand on his forehead. Dorea was trying to focus her attention on her husband instead of her friend, and Charlus was trying to mouth silent words to her with muted expressions. It was something to the tone of _'why didn't you tell me?_' She glared at him and tried to wordlessly tell him that it wasn't her story to tell. She wasn't sure if he got it or not, because he was trying to say something about telling him—

"Alright. I understand your reasons. I'll do it." Theo finally said. She gave him a grateful smile.

"We'll do it." Charlus answered.

"Thank you," Dorea said, moving towards her husband and holding his hand in hers. "We'll see you next time, then? I think it's time for us to visit Charlus' parents for now."

Theo nodded in understanding and they exchanged farewells. Charlus was more confused than anything, but let his wife pull him away for some distance from his friend before he opened his mouth.

"We're visiting my parents? Why? We don't have to visit them now, you know."

"Well, it seems that we would have to do it sometime soon anyway," Dorea said as she held his arm close to her. "Otherwise you're going to ask unwanted questions to Theo."

"What?"

"Please, Charlus, leave him be. It's his story to keep. If he wants to tell you, he will. If he doesn't, then that's his right and we can't push him. I wouldn't know about it if I hadn't seen him launch a complicated spell-chain against Marcus Yaxley. I put two-and-two together when I saw Ebenezer Flint and Atticus Garrett with the exact same uncomfortable limp the week after that after I saw both of them trying to corner Theo in the library." She stopped and turned to him, one hand fiddling with his collar, her eyes large and filled with concern even as her fingers drifted higher to his bare skin. It might be a bit unfair to use it against him, but she didn't want to take any chances.

"Promise me you won't ask anything about it unless he tells you first?" she asked.

He sighed, but pulled his wife closer all the same and placed his forehead on her sleek black hair. She released the breath she didn't even realise she had been holding.

"Alright, I give you my word on that."

'-

_- Pottersborough – Hermione's Practice -_

"_Expecto Patronum!_"

Dorea Potter entered the east music room of Potter Manor, or more often known as the Practice Class because most of its furnitures have been pushed against the wall so that the wood panelled floor could be used for the children's spellcasting practice. It was simply pragmatism on their part, because without one such room, she didn't want to imagine the kind of mess that James and Harry could get into, or the kind of damage any of Charlus' family heirlooms could suffer from. What she hadn't expect was to see Hermione in there, sweat beading her brow, and several books lay open on the closest table. She knew that Luna was making a snowman, and that Harry was pulled outdoor by James, but she had assumed that Hermione would be with them too—something that turned out to not be the case at all.

"_Expecto Patronum!_"

There was a slight tingle in the room, a _frisson_ of current similar to what one would feel in the air not long after a thunderstrike. Dorea was sure that the tight curls of Hermione's hair would've expanded into a frizz by now if it wasn't for a waterlock spell she had taught the young witch.

"Hermione?"

"Good Morning, Aunt Dorea," Hermione replied. Her words were automatic, with barely any conscious effort on her part, and Dorea could see why—she had yet to take her attention from her movements.

"What are you doing?" The dark-haired witch asked. She kept her voice as light and unweighted as possible. If she had any reservations about the possibility of a second-year witch actually managing the charm, she gave no outward sign.

"Practicing the Patronus Charm," Hermione answered. She wasted no time to repeat the movement she had been going through before yet once again. Dorea took to a spare chair and watched one of her protégés ploughing through the motions. Of course, that was where the problem was, she thought. Unlike some other charms, the patronus wasn't just about _motions_.

"Hermione? Can I ask your attention for a moment?"

Hermione let loose one last try, and another strangely rounded mist bounded away from the tip of her wand. Dorea would be tempted to consider it a success if she didn't know that the patronus isn't supposed to be a shapeless blob (even if it seemed to be a blob with some sentience).

"_What?_"

Dorea raised an eyebrow at the careless and borderline challenging retort. Hermione sighed and took the seat next to Harry's mother.

"I'm sorry, Aunt Dorea. It's just not a good day for me."

"Alright. Take a break for a moment then, and tell me, Hermione. What is it that you need to have in order to make a patronus?"

"The right movements, the right words and the right memory," Hermione said.

"And what memory is that?"

"A happy one, the kind of memory that warms your heart, etc…"

"Let me tell you one thing then, even if you won't listen to any other for now—" Hermione blushed a little in embarassment, but Dorea continued on unfaltering. "—you're not _happy_. Whatever you're thinking, I doubt if it was a happy enough memory if you are still gritting your teeth while casting and clawing the wand as if it would escape at any moment."

"But it was a good memory!" she blustered, "I'll always remember the moment when Headmistress Chevalier invited me to her office because I was the first in my year. You could see the Mediterranean from the windows!"

"Ah, Camille's office is a most wonderful place," Dorea conceded. She remembered what the Headmistress of Beauxbatons office looked like, and it was undoubtedly the French witch's personal haven; Hermione nodded vigorously at that. Dorea took the moment to strike right at the core, keeping her voice soft.

"And yet your heart is still _here_, Hermione, trapped in the middle of winter in northern England instead of southern France. You're not _feeling_ it. Don't think about the spell, think of the _memory_. Close your eyes and take a deep breath. Relax. Imagine that you're back there again, on that afternoon."

Hermione paused and opened one eye, "How did you know it was an afternoon?"

Dorea smiled, signalling to Hermione to close both eyes again. "Because Camille would not hesitate to show the unparalleled view at sunset where the clouds are the colour of honeysuckles and the wind spoke almost always of summer. She always did like showing it off. Tell me, Hermione, did you walk on to the carpet?"

Hermione nodded, her lips beginning to curve on the edges. "It was the thickest carpet I've ever seen, and we opened our shoes before walking on it so we won't ruin it. For a moment I thought I would _sink_," she sighed. "It was so soft."

"Were the windows closed or open then?"

"It was the beginning of summer and a particularly warm day, so she had her windows open then. I could smell the roses climbing up on the wall of her tower. White Bulgarian roses, she told me, the best ones for perfumes."

Dorea leaned back with satisfaction, the contentment she felt was mirrored in Hermione's expression.

"Good. Now, try casting the Patronus again."

Hermione opened her eyes. This time, when her wand flicked and twisted, a smile was on her face all the time.

"_Expecto Patronum!_"

The tip of her wand glowed and a bright-eyed otter emerged before making a circuit around the room. Its silver glow left a wispy trail behind it and it was not _quite_ so solid yet. But now, there was a recognizable form. The form held even as the patronus scampered and returned, prepared to receive any simple order. Hermione stared at the result of her work with wide-eyes, no less wide than Dorea's. She did expect Hermione's effort to be better, holding a more specific shape (a quadruped or a bird, or such). She hadn't expected it to completely succeed. Hermione threw her arms around the dark-haired witch.

"I did it! Thank you Aunt Dorea, I _did it!_"

"Good for you, Hermione."

Dorea gladly hugged the girl while still in a partial daze. The young witch in front of her moved on rather quickly from the exhilaration of success to trying to interact with her patronus. Hermione was still overflowing with excitement; her feet went on a frenetic tap-tap-tap as surely as having springs for heels. The grin that lit her face was dazzling.

"Patronus done! Now I can move on to the next spells!"

Dorea paused, while Hermione had scattered away and turned the pages in front of her in frenzy. How did a _second-year_ student actually managed the Patronus charm? If Hermione could master it this soon, then Charlus wasn't exagerrating. Harry _did_ master it, though who knows how exactly her son managed that, she couldn't begin to guess. Since Charlus' assessment of Luna and Hermione wasn't too different, there was no question that Luna wasn't far behind her friends.

_I have been teaching three children who are more than halfway to mastering the Patronus charm_, Dorea thought in the same dazed realisation. _What are the odds of that?_

Hermione closed two open books, satisfied with it for now. She took a different tome and sat on the couch with visible giddiness. The book was one Dorea had taught the children for Defence Against the Dark Arts several days ago; it was the third volume of Cassius Maligni's _Curses, Hexes & Jynx and theyr Counters; fore Preparacion knowes not Darke or Light_. It was also a book that Theo agreed as a must-read, regardless of what ministry officials were going to say about it.

Dorea was _certain_ she had been teaching them from the second volume, though, but the Granger witch was flipping through the chapters with the kind of care and smile one gives to familiar old friends. Dorea tilted her head to one side, watching her young charge with barely any movement. Her all-black dress made and long black hair gave the air of a raven from a distance. Hermione jump headfirst into learning with unbridled interest. _How long_, Dorea wondered, _has Hermione been reading ahead?_

"How far have you read that, Hermione?"

"Only up to the blood-boiling curse. I'm reading up the counter." her reply was absentminded, but Dorea didn't mind. For her it was good news to see that Hermione had found the book riveting when that most of Dorea's peers in fifth year would not even touch it with a poker or if they were paid in galleons to read it. The discovery was one that made her giddy with excitement, as she considered what else she should move the children on to. Maybe Charlus was right. Maybe it was time to teach _all_ the children even farther.

"Why did you read that far without telling me?" the older witch asked.

"Because—" Hermione paused and looked up from her book, apprehension in her eyes. Her voice was smaller when she spoke up next. "—because it didn't cross my mind. You're not going to be angry with me, are you, Aunt Dorea?"

Dorea chuckled, sitting down beside her. "No, no. Of course not. Just remember to tell me next time so I can modify the lessons accordingly. No wonder everyone seems to finish their homework quickly. I've barely seen Harry inside in these last few days. Maybe I should make it more difficult."

Hermione groaned. She seemed to only realise something now. "Harry's going to blame _me_ for the increase in homework."

"Well, that one remains to be seen, isn't it?" Mrs. Potter said.

She pouted, not caring how undignified it might look and gave her best pleading eyes. Dorea patted her on the head and pulled her closer instead.

"Don't worry too much about it—I would've found out sooner or later if all of you breezed through the lessons. Besides, most of what I'd give you are _practicals_. Still, tell me something, Hermione. Why are you so determined to learn so much so quickly?"

"I..."

Hermione blinked, twice, and a thousand thoughts seemed to run past her head at once—Dorea might not know what exactly they are, but the differing emotions surfacing in every half-moment told her enough. The brunette had a faraway look when she answered, her voice strangely floating.

"I have to change the world, of course." Hermione nodded, as if to herself. "Change the world into a better place in the future. That would take some preparation."

_Is that a prophecy, I wonder?_ She watched the girl by her side carefully. There was a familiar feeling of otherworldliness, of Hermione seeing of things beyond her reach. _No matter_. Whatever it was, the determination that she could feel around Hermione was something she didn't mind helping the young witch with. It's been a long time since she saw anyone holding a dream that big.

_You would do well in my old house, dear_, she thought, _it's been a long time since anyone had a noble ambition. _She didn't say it out loud, of course. It galvanised her interest in checking how Hogwarts has been in a way that she hadn't felt in a long time. There would be time for Hermione to get acquainted with all the houses of Hogwarts long before she went there. Dorea would just have to reintroduce herself as a friendly aunt to her brother's children and keep up some degree of correspondence. Dorea felt invigorated; she hadn't had such an interesting project for some time now.

'-

**Author's Note**: Like they say. _the past is a foreign country. They do things differently there._

First, to anyone who _does_ realise what Dorea, Theo and Charlus were talking about in the middle of duelling class, that sort of abuse/harrassment isn't really thought of as extraordinary 'back in the day'. Boys are expected to tough it up and not be a wuss. As another upper-class boarding school* in England, it's entirely possible for Hogwarts to have a similar atmosphere. See _Tom Brown's School Days_ for details, or for a faster way, a dictionary definition of 'buggery' (and no, it does not involve bugs). Darn, I really have to stop this wikiwalk before it gets too long.

* Technically speaking about the era, 'boarding school' is enough, since there are no 'lower-class boarding school' around (I don't think tuition fees have gone any cheaper now either).


	5. 04 The Finhowe Arc III: Gateways

**Author's Note**: If anyone finds any typos, please inform me and I'll change it right away. I try my best to check the work, but I don't have a beta-reader (not since the 2nd chapter). Next update is at least probably going to take a month, since the next part after this one is being rather difficult and uncooperative and I may need to work at it for a while. This chapter is even longer than any before, so its probably enough to tide anyone over.

Happy reading. On a side note: It's not recommended to read the current chapter on mobile phones. Really. Some informative detail may be missed.

'-

**04: The Finhowe Arc III – Gateways**

_The Road goes ever on and on  
>Down from the door where it began,<br>Now far ahead the Road has gone,  
>And I must follow if I can,<br>Pursuing it with weary feet,  
>Until it joins some larger way,<br>Where many paths and errands meet.  
>And wither then? I cannot say.<em>*

'-

**February 1940**

_- Pottersborough – On Scrying -_

Harry tried to pick a good time to interrupt his friend's spellcasting practice. He wasn't sure if she was free, but it was better than interrupting a potions practice session. An ingredient added at the wrong time could have hazardous consequences, and even Harry knew that. His mother wouldn't have let him walk out of her class with less potion-making knowledge.

"Hermione?"

She stopped practising various wand movements and turned around. "Yes, Harry?"

"You're not mad at me anymore, right?" He asked,

Her forehead creased slightly. "Mad at you? When am I even mad at you?"

Harry sneaked carefully into the east music room, now designated as a charms and DADA practice area. He cleared his throat. "You look ready to bite my head off in DADA three meetings ago. I mean, now that I heard from Mum that you've managed the Patronus, you're not mad anymore, right?"

Hermione actually looked surprised at that, her mouth forming a small o as she paused midway in her movements. "I didn't… oh, Harry, I'm sorry. I guess I should apologise to Luna as well. I've been so prickly in the last few days, haven't I?"

"And irritable. Luckily Iwain showed up and distracted you from it," Harry replied blithely. "You were going to manage it sooner or later—you're the top of our year in Charms class, Hermione! I don't understand why a Patronus charm annoys you so much."

"Because it makes me feel _stupid_." Hermione muttered as she dropped herself on a sofa.

"Well, seeing you master all those five spells on the first day of second year did wonders for everyone else's confidence, I bet," Harry said, finding a spot to sit down on. When Hermione blushed, he rolled his eyes. "Oh come _on_, you didn't realise why Blanche was always nattering about your hair in class to her friends? You pushed her from the teacher's attention and she didn't like that."

Hermione snorted. "I read before class, Harry, it's that simple. We _do_ know what textbooks we're going to use by early summer. You know, you never had any difficulty in passing her grades either. Neither did Luna, or Philippe, or Helene, or Evariste. I don't think I did something _significant_."

"Unlike everyone else, you pushed her over _in all classes_." Harry said, offhand. Hermione bit her lip and looked out the window, to the idle big white bird of Pottersborough whom no one seems to have given a name.

"Anyway, what's all this about?" Hermione asked after the bird grew bored and flew away.

"Just to make sure that you're not going to get mad again from something that unimportant," Harry said. He raised his hands to stifle any complaint from Hermione. "I mean it, Hermione. We all know you could do anything you set your mind to, alright? You just need to relax and trust yourself a bit more. Could you promise that you won't cry over any classes?"

"I can't promise you that!"

Harry gave a despaired sigh. "Honestly, for someone so clever you could be quite dense."

She glared at him, but he ignored it. "Alright, how about no prickly moods to your friends? If it wasn't for Luna, it would drive me out of my mind."

"_Fine_, no prickly moods," She said, still with the same glare.

"Promise?"

"Yes, yes. Promise, witch's honour and all that," Hermione added reluctantly.

Harry nodded with satisfaction. "Good. Because I was just about to tell you that I'm taking both Divination classes, Sensing _and_ Scrying. Just that."

Hermione's eyes widened, but she didn't say a word. Harry thought that he had pushed his luck far enough for today as he slowly, carefully stood up and think of moving towards the door.

"Right. So, I thought I should tell you that before we meet in next scrying class. Well, at least before Aunt Artemis announces the schedule change for Scrying. It's changed so that it doesn't clash with Sensing anymore, 'cause, well, I take both now. So, uh, see you later? Bye!"

'-

Harry was eyeing Hermione rather warily during dinner, but she only sighed. It was midday, and they were more or less alone as Harry's parents seem to have some other affairs to transact at the moment. They would probably be back already around tea, and definitely home by supper.

"I'm not mad at you, Harry. You're right, I should relax."

"Besides, he wants to scry the present more than the future or past, Hermione. Your interests won't end up being the same." Luna said as she bit into her carrots. Hermione cut into her steak, but her attention was elsewhere as she shook her head in disbelief.

"Why on earth would you want to scry the _present_? We could just see it with our own eyes."

Harry grinned. The light in his green eyes flickered with a secret insight. "Aha, that's where you're _wrong_."

Hermione bristled. Fortunately, she caught herself in time (with a light elbow jab from Luna), and took a deep breath instead.

"And why is that?" She asked.

"Like this. We're all in the dining room, right? Eating. I could see you and you could see me," Harry said, fiddling with his steak knife in a way Hermione wasn't actually comfortable with, but she said nothing because he was too excited. Hermione nodded slowly, not quite sure what he was getting at yet. He continued. "Now, let me ask you this. Could we see what's going on at Pottersborough's gates right now? What's going on in Finhowe? Heck, we may as well ask what's going on in the village, while we're at it."

Hermione's eyes widened, and Harry nodded.

"Exactly. That's what I wanted to do. I know that the wards around the house is good, but it would be a lot more useful if we could see what was happening in other places as well."

"That's… that's a actually a very good idea, Harry." Hermione said.

Harry smiled with pride. "It is, isn't it? '_Constant Vigilance!_' and all that."

Hermione nodded, even if she couldn't quite place where she had heard the very familiar phrase from.

'-

It was some days later before they could go to Finhowe again as their schedules tightened up with the beginning of a few more classes, including one schedule change regarding Scrying. Hermione had gotten over any insecurity she felt with Harry's decision to take it as well soon enough. She seemed a bit more full of pride of her works in Basic Arithmancy Theory (taught by Aunt Sophia and Aunt Artemis, who was still waffling between caling it Arithmancy Theory or Arithmantic Theory). Harry was definitely happier that Hermione was less occupied with her setbacks now. Dorea Potter put her foot down whenever Charlus or Theo disagreed (or whether Charlus was trying to interfere too much in any of the other classes), and the classes the two wizards taught proceeded much smoother and faster. The homeworks that followed made them busier, and at times Harry didn't even think of Finhowe or of Iwain's request at all.

There was also that one time when Harry avoided Pottersborough like Black Death was warming up; he heard that Aunt Cassie held her pre-Hogwarts class there and would _love_ to have anyone else join. His brother might've gotten annoyed at Harry for not helping him escape, but if Harry was going to go off at for who-knows-how-long with Hermione and Luna, it helped to have a pristine record for a while. The angelic impression worked wonders in Beauxbatons when they had started to run retaliatory pranks against Montmorency's goons, so there was no reason why it shouldn't work now. It also sat very well with Hermione who disliked having to break rules unless absolutely necessary.

Lucky for them, she had somehow considered helping Iwain as necessary.

Harry's father didn't know any better and had been in the same glowing happiness he had been in since he found out that Harry could execute the Patronus Charm well, and it tripled when he found out that Hermione and Luna had somehow managed too, even if not as solidly formed as their friend. The duelling class went much better than the parents had thought it would be, but the children kept their knowing shared glances and didn't say much about Beauxbatons. Harry coasted on that as his father gave them a lot of slack. He was sure his mother sometimes sent him her inscrutable long glances, but as long as she didn't voice anything, the plan was as good as gold. The time when the three of them convened again in the Pottersborough library was on one lazy Saturday afternoon, sans James.

Harry's younger brother was off with Cygnus and Orion, who now managed to cook up Quidditch practice as the best excuse to avoid the classes of Cassiopeia Black in the weekends. Previously, it was a rather flimsy excuse since there were only the two Black cousins, but the addition of James made it perfect.

So now Hermione, Harry and Luna were free to go out on Finhowe after lunch, without anyone to check-up on their whereabouts for now—especially when they mentioned something about camping out and carrying enough food for supper with them. Of course this time, Hermione insisted that they packed enough food for two meals, straight from the kitchen.

'-

"This is going to weigh _a ton_," Harry complained, looking at all the food on the table that the elfs had helpfully prepared for 'a picnic'.

"Well, even _I_, a muggleborn, have a partial mokeskin bag. I'm sure your family has at least one of these," Hermione said, eyeing Harry rather strangely. Luna shook hers at Harry with the pose the magical emporium staff in Paris used when they're showing off new products, complete with the rather frighteningly wide smile.

"They're bags like these, Harry. You know, ones that reduce the weight of the stuff we put in them?"

Harry's opened his mouth but no words came out as realisation hit him. He ruefully shook his head.

"Of _course_ the Potters must have had at least one of it. I didn't even think of that! I don't know why, but I kept thinking about how expensive it probably is all this time and thought about how on earth I was going to buy it." With that, Harry walked away to try to dig up a mokeskin bag of sorts from the Potter inventory. The first place he'd probably go to would be Pottersborough's giant attic.

Hermione glanced at Luna. "He thought it was going to be _expensive_."

"I know my mother said that mokeskin isn't cheap," Luna said casually as she pushed pies and butterbeers into hers.

"Yes, Luna. But he's _Harold 'Harry' Lutwidge Potter_. If there's one thing he didn't need to ever worry about, that would be whether he could afford something or not," Hermione remarked with a disbelieving shake of her head. "I still don't know where he picked up his thrift habit."

Luna chuckled. "I think it's a good thing."

Hermione smiled. "I didn't say it wasn't. Just… _unexpected_."

If there was one strange thing about Harry, it was how he was at once so careless in sharing anything he had with his friends and yet so frugal in his own purchases. Luna had even pointed out to Hermione that whenever Harry had a shiny set of new robes or a smart dress robe, it was sure to be a purchase of his mother's than his own initiative. The last piece of clothing that Harry bought for himself that they remembered was a pair of durable, dragonhide boots—and he opened his savings for that. Dorea Potter gleefully told them that her husband was in tears when he realised that his eldest didn't even ask his parents for it. For one from an old and respectable wizarding family, Harry was _odd_.

But then, the three of them probably fit well because they were all quite odd in their own way.

'-

_- Finhowe – Down the Path Winding Down -_

How does one find a door one has never been to? Several alternatives come to mind:

a) By going through all other doors first

b) By asking around

c) By consulting a map

But Harry was pretty sure there wasn't anything like a door labelled on the map of Finhowe he managed to sneak out of the house. Hermione insisted on rechecking it (to which Harry gladly let her), but none were to be found, and she could only fold the map in defeat. The three of them stood just outside the doors of Finhowe, their woolen coats buttoned up tight as they stood there under the eaves, complete with hats. They were still uncertain where to go to from this point. This time, Luna reiterated her opinion on how they should proceed.

"Let's go through _all_ other doors first."

"But going through all doors in Pottersborough is going to take all day!" Hermione said. There had been a lengthy pause when the brunette witch held back her initial opinion of how it just doesn't make sense. She had began to accept that sometimes, sense had nothing to do with how magic worked. "Besides, there's still Finhowe to consider."

"Not to mention that there are also _cabinet doors_ and _cupboard doors_. Do we count them in or not? I mean, how do we even go through _cupboards_? Knock down a hole at the back?" Harry asked.

Luna shook her head, still quite unbothered. She was snacking on one of the yellow foil-wrapped, special edition chocolate frogs she still had from Christmas. "No, not those doors, of course. The doors that go to the other side. The doors that leave our realm… though of course we need a map to find them."

Harry sighed. "You know that we can't find anything on our map, right?"

"Well, we use the map marked everywhere on Finhowe," she said, as if it was obvious.

Hermione furrowed her brows. "What map?"

Luna pointed to the squiggly border carving on the post behind them. "Those. They're everywhere in the house. The ones here are exactly like the ones on the wallpaper inside."

-ᵒδʘ-ᵒδʘ'-ᵒδʘ'-ᵒδʘ'-ᵒδʘ'-ᵒδʘ'-ᵒδʘ'-ᵒδʘ'-ᵒδʘ'-ᵒδʘ'-ᵒδʘ'-ᵒδʘ'-ᵒδʘ

"They look like squiggles," Harry said as the three of them squinted their eyes at the repeating pattern it. Luna nodded.

"Yup. They're map shorthand, map _runes_. See the three circles of different sizes? They're for the three hills."

"I've seen this somewhere and it's not small like this," Hermione muttered. "A little larger. I think this is the carving on the mantelpiece inside as well."

Harry placed the key into the keyhole and opened the front door. Warm air gushed from inside, surprisingly welcome even for someone who had worn a warming charm already. "That's already a good reason to see for ourselves."

'-

The three of them entered the living room, moving quickly towards the fireplace. Hermione had only needed to shift a dated pillbox and a small vase of potpourri to be able to find something. Etched on the smoked dark wood that was worn smooth with age was recognisably a map, its grooves tinted black from the countless spirits spilt on it as well as residues of smoke from hundreds of fires. There were two of them, one on each end of the mantelpiece.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ._._._._._. ._. . xxxxxxxxx . . . .  
>. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .\.\. . . . . . . O. . . . . . . .x . . .<br>. . . . . . . xxxxx. . . . . xOxxx . . . ..x. . . . . . . . . x . .  
>_._._._.x. . . . . .x. . .x . . . . x . . .x. . . . .=|- - -O . .<br>. . . . . .x. . . . . .x. . x -.^.^.x. . . x. . . . =|. . . .x . .  
>. . . . . . . xxxxx. . . . x . . . . x . . . .x. . . . . . . .x. . .<br>. . . . . . . . . . . .\_._._Oxxxx. . . . . . .xxxxOxxxx. . . .

"Finhowe's three hills," Hermione said softly, "from the smallest to the largest. It's too similar to Harry's map to have been anything else. The lines represent the largest roads—I remember the one leading up to the Finhowe house."

"And that couldn't be anything else but a _gate_," Harry said, tapping the sideways arc that was in the middle of the largest circle—Finhowe's tallest hill.

"With five smaller gates to pass before," Luna said. When her friends turned to her with questions in their eyes, she shrugged. "Look at the five circles spread on the map. They're located at path beginnings or ends. I think that's enough of a clue."

Hermione had pulled out a parchment and a pencil to take a copy of the etching along with them. "What would they look like?" she asked.

"I have no idea," Luna said. "But why not just go there?"

'-

To tell the truth, Hermione found it rather annoying to have to go all the way to the smallest hill in Finhowe, right from the front gates of the estate. She didn't complain, though, because she had no better idea on what to do. She was about to walk there when Harry pointed out that she was a _witch_ and they all had _brooms_. The brooms were pretty standard ones and slightly outdated, so that no one would weep if they had to be shrunk and resized repeatedly. Initially, Hermione balked at the idea, but Harry said that it was going to take the better part of the day if they were to walk _everywhere_.

Besides, he knew his mother had succeeded in getting Hermione to take some basic flying lessons.

"How much longer are you going to _whine_, Hermione? I know you could fly," Harry said, his arms folded in front of his chest. He raised a challenging eyebrow. To Hermione, he was basically being an annoying prat.

"I'm not whining!"

"Are."

"Not!"

"You could fly," Harry threw back with confidence. "You learnt to. My _mother_ made you learn."

"That's for emergencies!"

"And you don't think this is one? What if I go ahead with Luna on brooms, and we met something we couldn't handle on our own? What if there was a puzzle on the door?" Harry asked. "What if there was a sphinx asking riddles? I'm not good with riddles."

"There are _no_ sphinxes in the wild in England, Harry," Hermione rolled her eyes in disbelief.

"You said the same of wolves, and look where we are now," He said.

"We might meet _werewolves_," Luna said. "Wait, I don't think that's a threat. I heard there was a group that had signed a pledge to be vegetarians. True story, I heard it from my father."

Harry glanced at Luna, slightly incredulous. Hermione sighed and relented. She took out her broom without much vigour while Harry (a little too energetically) cast _Engorgio_ on everyone's brooms. If Hermione hadn't been holding her broom, it might've bucked away—Harry gave her a sheepish grin for that.

"Err, sorry."

They kicked the ground away below them and went up above the tree line. Harry was in the lead, enjoying the wind rushing past him a little too much; even the parts where he had to duck and avoid the tops of trees and the highest branches snagging up. Luna flew right beside Hermione and kept the same speed and height. She talked about all sorts of things, from rare creatures that prompted Hermione to point out that they were never properly sighted (she responded with a good-natured "I'll find them"), to what scrying materials Hermione had read up on.

"Too many of them seems to be rather restricted materials, though," Hermione said with a sigh. "No wonder that scrying isn't common in most curriculums."

"It takes a long time to make the needed mediums as well. Most people don't want to bother and just choose the standard Delphic divination." Luna said.

"Yes. If Aunt Artemis and Aunt Dorea didn't have Potioneer licenses to buy many of them, I don't think we'd ever be able to learn it at all—we wouldn't even be able to buy the ingredients!"

"We're landing ahead! I see the gates already." Harry shouted from in front of them.

The trees slowly became sparse under them; at first there were more bushes before even the most stubborn hawthorn shrub did not cover the bare ground. It was only when Hermione started her descent to the clearing in front of tall, wrought-iron gates that she realised she hadn't been thinking about flying or heights at all during the flight. When she turned to Luna, the blonde witch only smiled.

"You can't do that forever, you know," Hermione murmured, even if she was secretly grateful.

"I'll just have to find some other way, then."

"So, we're supposed to start from the gate?" Harry asked. He had jumped down from his broom and caught it in his hand just before it strayed away when Luna and Hermione was still touching down. Hermione had no idea how he did that, because she took an effort to just land properly (as opposed to crash-landing). Luna's brooms glided down smoothly while Hermione's reduced its height inch by inch under her tight control. Harry rolled his eyes.

"You don't have to be so tense. You'd fly better if you're more relaxed."

"Easy for you to say that," Hermione sniffed.

Luna walked up to the tall gates; the hinges barely creaking as she pushed against them, testing. As she walked to one corner, Harry and Hermione followed. She waved to her friends to get closer, and they did. Luna had found a milestone partially covered by a tree root, not quite noticeable unless one was looking. It was cylindrical, the size of a large dinner plate, crumbling partially on the lower right corner. To Hermione, the runes were familiar enough and the phrase quite simple that she could guess what it meant even if she didn't quite remember a third of the symbols.

"The White Lady's How," Luna said, even as Hermione squinted at it.

At the bottom of the runes were the carving of a shield, decorated with three disks. On the stone itself, the brunette could see impressions of shells and fragmentary molluscs, and recognised the stone for what it was as her fingers followed the contours of these dwellers of ancient seas. There was a very specific use of such stones in the wizarding world.

"Wait, isn't that actually a wardstone?" She asked.

Luna agreed with her. "Yes it is."

"A wardstone inside the wards of Harry's family? How does that even work?"

Luna shrugged. "It seemed inactive. Most wizards would just think that it was part of an older protection system that was now unused, instead of something purposefully harmful. They simply let it lie."

"So we start here… " Harry said.

"And we go round the path outside all the hills, widdershins." Luna finished.

'-

Once they entered the forested areas, the wind wasn't as bothersome as it had been when they were by the Finhowe gates.

The three of them covered the ground quickly. It may have something to do with the outdoor boots that they were wearing, or it might have something to do with how they moved in a close formation as they followed the old path to long unused and overgrown segments of it. Hermione pushed back the branches to their left with a variety of spells, and Harry held the ones on the right as Luna cleared bushes and anything else that could block their way ahead. If the wind had blown harder, or the air turned colder, they did not quite feel it from inside their warm coats and warming spell. They did feel their stomach emptying rather quickly after they've gone past the first hill with its rock-strewn paths and the road itself winding sometimes up and sometimes down.

"I was sure I ate a lot," Harry said, scratching his head.

"Maybe we shouldn't have gone out walking_ in winter_," Hermione remarked. "There really is no helping it, Harry."

"We could eat a little after we found the first gate," Luna offered.

That was something the three of them could easily agree upon as they continued to follow the old path winding around the smallest hill. The path was barely visible, and as thus couldn't quite be followed from the air—this time, they really had to walk. Luna insisted that they go round widdershins than sunwise, and neither Harry nor Hermione found a problem with that. Rounding the hillock wasn't quite noticeable when done with conversations between friends (between opening up the path again from undergrowth). They reached the first bridge, crossing the river that separated the small hill from the other two in no time. It was barely within an hour of walking that the three of them reached the beginning of the new path that would lead back to the Finhowe cottage.

"We're not going uphill, are we?" Harry asked. Luna shook her head.

"Of course not; that way looks new. The old path goes around again."

"So we go around?" Hermione asked, half hoping for a different answer and yet knowing that it was true anyway. "And I bet it's _widdershins_ instead of taking left, where it's actually _shorter_?"

Luna nodded. "Yup. Widdershins again. We won't reach it the other way, you know. The gates between realms don't open that way."

Hermione sighed but bit her lip and trudged on.

'-

There wasn't anything particularly unusual in the beginning of their journey. Finhowe had tree cover for all of its hill, and most of their trek was following a path through its forest. Their first lead came when Harry ran into on a patch of weatherworn stones. He would have tripped and landed face first on the earth if he hadn't grabbed on the nearest thing he could get his hands on; Luna. Luna grabbed Hermione, and the three of them landed on their backside a bit painfully in a tumble.

"Urgh. What did you just stumbled on, Harry?" Hermione asked as she dusted her knee.

"Rocks and more rocks," he muttered. "There's a little too much rock in this place. Someone really should do something about it."

Luna hadn't said anything, and Hermione looked up. Her friend still had dirt on her coat and on her sleeves, but she was too intent on an out-of-the-way rock that she didn't care. Hermione approached a block of stone that was as tall and wide as a door, with a square base; it had been hewn carefully and with purpose. It was definitely even larger at some point in time, but seemed to have broken off a part of its top. The surface was smooth and dark grey, unlike the pale craggy stones littering the road and studding the hillsides of Finhowe.

"This doesn't seem to be from around here," Hermione said. Luna agreed with her on that.

"It's been moved from wherever its quarry is, and for a purpose." She said, pointing out to the various ancient runes etched on it. She squinted at them, trying to make sense of what they might be. Even Hermione knew it wasn't easy, because none of them were even Wizard's Runes, even if one was vaguely similar. The others, she felt she could vaguely recognise; if only she could sit down and think (or check her class notes).

"_The firssst door to her Highnesss' SssSSsss sssSS court,_" Harry hissed.

Hermione furrowed her brows and turned, quite sure that Harry did not really speak English just then. Her friend was still eyeing the stone. She didn't think too much about it yet because she could understand almost all of his words. "How did you know that?"

"It's written _there_," Harry pointed out, looking just as puzzled as Hermione. "Funny, though, I didn't think I learned more ancient runes than Luna."

Hermione observed the runes carved on the stone—she could see from a glance that there were at least three type of runes, probably more. Some were weathered away to indistinguishable streaks and others covered with lichen. To her surprise, she found that she could partly read the third group, the one that Harry seemed to have read from.

"Principal among portals to…. Something I can't read… court." Hermione read aloud.

"I _think_ I can read that a little, Harry, but look at all these runes! They're from more than one language," she said with awe. "This is like a Rosetta stone. You could decipher all the others with this."

"Most of them isn't much of a mystery," Luna clarified. "The first seems to be some descendant of futhark and is in Old English, the fourth is Old Wizard's Runes. I don't know the second, but the third is…"

"What?"

Luna cocked her head to one side, her pale fingertips exploring the stone's exterior, following the letters. Her grey eyes were trying to take in every single detail, her face a hand's width away from it.

"_Peregrines et pilgrims, all beware__…__ ssss_" Luna tried reading a portion, before trailing off, hesitant.

"I could be mistaken. I _think_ I'm mistaken. It hasn't been seen in a long time, apart from books banned by the Ministry."

Hermione stilled, and then rushed towards the stone, trying to recognise the shapes of the glyphs that were becoming eerily familiar to her the longer she stared at them and tried to dig into her memory for clues. They had covered the runic forms in Ancient Runes with Aunt Artemis and Uncle Theo, even if it was still basic. Harry was the only one not immediately curious. She could read more words now. _Travellers and pilgrims, all beware/To take what's not yours, don't ever dare_. It was getting absurd because she didn't even remember studying it at all, or ever reading it before. (_But you have_, an odd voice in her head said. It was a voice she couldn't quite recognise; it was too confident, too adult. _You did study it_.) She tried reading the words out loud and heard herself hissing. It chilled her.

"This…. This is the runes for Parseltongue, isn't it?" Hermione asked, softly.

Luna nodded without a word.

'-

"This isn't possible," Harry muttered, walking back and forth on the ground, occasionally sending annoyed looks to the standing stone, as if it had somehow given them the magical ability to be a snake charmer… or a Dark Wizard. He was wringing his hands while marching aimlessly.

"You could read all of it, Harry," Luna said, gently.

"I _can't_. It's impossible," he said. "No one could read Parseltongue except for Parselmouths."

The blonde shook her head. "Try reading it again then. You could do it, _perfectly_. I could read it too, Hermione could read it too, but it seems that we don't know as much as you do."

Harry was in obvious discomfort.

"I might have a few snake friends… but I'm not a Dark Lord," Harry insisted.

"Whoever said you were?" Hermione countered, frowning. The clouded expression she wore told enough about the thoughts that had been whipping inside her head. "I don't understand the fuss about it at all, really. All I've read is that many books on Dark Arts were banned, and along with that, a good number of books written in Parseltongue. I thought it was just an unfortunate coincidence that many books in Parseltongue are actually about Dark Arts."

"That's because all Parseltongue speakers in history are Dark Lords," he stated, the sentence seemingly self-explanatory.

Hermione eyed him sceptically. "_All_, Harry? Really? Maybe the others are just smart enough not to brag about it when they knew it could get them burned at the stake. _By other witches and wizards_. I mean, really, am I a Dark Lady, then? Is Luna?"

Harry looked baffled, "Of course not. Why do you ask that?"

"Because we could speak Parseltongue too?" Luna added. It was clear that Harry didn't quite believe it, but Hermione and Luna held his gaze without wavering.

"Harry, I understood almost everything that you were talking about when you read the writing on the stone," Hermione said.

Luna continued. "Neither of us knew how it came about either. So, do you still think that all Parselmouths are evil? Or that we should start an evil club?"

Hermione snorted. "_Here Stands the Cabal of Parselmouths! Only dark wizards and witches need apply!_ You're not _really_ thinking about it seriously, are you?"

He was still dejected. "Well, not _really_. But still—"

"No buts," Hermione cut in. "I don't know why you can speak it, or why Luna and I could partially do it too, but just being able to talk in snake language is _not _evil. Could you accept that?"

"Do you think of us as evil, Harry?" Luna asked. "I admit that I sometimes took the strawberries on top of your cake slices, but I don't really think about taking over the world. Not all of it is sweet and refreshing to taste."

A smile managed to grow on Harry's face. "I prefer fruits too, you know."

"I know. That's why I always gave you boxes of them the next day," Luna said blithely.

"So," Hermione started. She might not show it, but she was quite relieved that Harry didn't look so down and _guilty_. She didn't believe that they were guilty of anything. "We know we're on the first gate of the White Lady's place. What do we do now, walk on?"

"Walk on," Luna said.

"And let's not talk about this Parselmouth _thing_ unless we're in Finhowe," Harry quickly added.

"That's the silliest thing I've ever—" Hermione never did finished her sentence because Luna elbowed her.

"We could use sound bubbles," Luna said, offering a compromise, while Hermione muttered on about how she didn't think any of this suppositions about Parselmouths made any sense.

'-

They didn't quite notice anything significantly different as they moved on, at least not at the beginning. The ground was trying, with its large stones scattered here and there that the path could not help but curve around several times, sometimes left and sometimes right. There, they found the second runestone. The only difference was that, there were two of them on either side of the path instead of one. The three of them sat down for a while to open the sandwiches they had carried. They had intended to eat after finding the first gate, but the confusion and discomfort from finding out that they could read Parseltongue distracted them.

Now, Hermione stared at the two monoliths; silent sentinels waiting for travellers that rarely pass on an ancient road, loyally guarding their home well beyond their own era. It brought her to a rather pensive mood as she wondered who erected it there. The White Lady herself? Her family? The tallest hill in Finhowe was said to be her grave, after all. They looked and _felt_ ancient. Yet the number of runes on it seem to show that this place wasn't as out-of-the-way, in-the-middle-of-nowhere as it seemed. It was probably a trade hub; enough to have many people passing through that the people encountered and known all those varied languages, with some clearly the languages of wizards.

Hermione finally said her thought out loud, just to see what Luna and Harry thought of it. They listened attentively, considering her ideas and nodding on when they found it to make sense (unlike some annoying prats in class who would say that she's been thinking too much).

Harry pointed out that if there were two standing stones placed side-by-side, why not a third placed on top of them, to create a real arc? After all, one of the stones seemed to have a knob like shape on top of it. That made everyone look up, trying to see what Harry mentioned. He was right—there were knob-like bumps on it. For someone with glasses, Harry had good Seeker eyes.

Luna gave an alternative view to Hermione's—the place doesn't have to be that big a trade center. There was nothing telling them that these people weren't magic-wielders themselves.

"Maybe Wizard's Runes are a modern name," Luna said casually, "Maybe it had been Druid's Runes before, or something else. Who knows?"

Harry smiled and Hermione nodded while sipping their butterbeers. That was the point; they didn't know much.

As they proceed, the terrain only seemed to have gotten rougher that they have to clamber up and down several rocky protrusions. Harry almost felt like swearing several times. The roots of the oaks, hollies, and other trees around the path weren't much better. Perhaps it had something to do with short oaks with trunks as large as a bear and just as hefty roots. Harry had to keep watching his feet if he didn't want to have several more near misses.

"If I didn't know better, I swear several of them are trying to pull me down on purpose," he complained.

"Maybe they are, Harry," Luna answered.

"The roots couldn't possibly be—"

"Hermione, if you say that plants couldn't be sentient, we might even run into a Venus Man-eater around here," Harry said. "This is a magical forest. Let's not tempt fate."

"What I _mean_, is that oaks _aren't_ sentient," Hermione said. She did have to stop talking for a while as she clambered up and over several large roots. Harry began to wonder since when the path that they were following started to become unseen on the forest floor, so many were the tangle of rootwork that covered it. The path was now a criss-crossed webbing of roots, and not even the ground was visible for long.

"Wait, is it just me, or have the trees always been this large?" Hermione asked.

Harry understood what she was asking. If the trees they passed before were large, the ones they passed now seemed to have the girth of a giant squid, with roots as thick as its tentacles spreading and knotting above ground as much as it was probably doing under. The same thing happened with the way the branches above them were densely packed and weaved together that the light reaching them was dimmed and slight. It began to feel that they were walking through a tunnel woven of wood. Or a tunnel underneath the sea.

"I don't think the trees in Finhowe are actually this big… " Harry murmurred under his breath as he avoided another knotty tangle under his feet. He didn't say that he wasn't sure the trees in Finhowe ever grew so close to each other, shoulder to shoulder that he had the nagging worry of being trapped. He didn't want to give the trees any ideas. Now that he was wary, he noticed that the forest was quiet—a little too quiet. And hadn't the road been curving to the left every now and then? Why did Harry feel that it was veering too far to the right now?

Luna was shaking her head beside him, her brows furrowed in thought. "Wait, I don't think the road is supposed to go this way… let's turn back and take the other path in the previous split."

"What previous split?" Harry asked. All he had seen were trees and bushes, and dried as they were, he began to feel that there were too many of them.

"I thought I saw another milestone before," she said, while observing their surroundings. Luna turned back, and her friends went with her. The _other_ path that she said was there wasn't much better from the first. They had to cut a hole through a blackthorn bush to reach the other side, and neither Harry nor Hermione was in a very good mood after that. Hermione swung her wand out threateningly against the trees. Not that it mattered much against vegetations that definitely lacked eyes.

"At least we have one good news, though," Luna said, a small twig sticking out of her hair.

The look on Harry's face was exactly like Hermione's at that pronouncement; disbelief.

"And why exactly is that?" Hermione asked as she pushed back an outstretched branch in their way. This path seemed to have been almost claimed by the bushes.

"We're walking through the Halfway Woods. Now we know for sure that we're actually leaving our Finhowe for the Lady's Finhowe."

Harry didn't even try to parse what exactly Luna was saying. He knew asking for more explanation rarely helped when he wasn't sure. It was best to just wait and see if he could make sense of it after a while. Usually, letting the thought lay for a day or two helped.

"The Halfway Woods? How do you even know that?" Hermione said skeptically. Luna shrugged.

"It could be Halfway Land, The-Place-in-Between. The place that isn't one doesn't exactly have a real name. Halfway Woods is just convenient."

Convenient and rather accurate, Harry thought. He had felt that some of the trees he saw weren't quite recogniseable. He was sure, for one, that the oaks in Finhowe didn't have a smattering of leaves in this time of the year. Well, at least the oaks that he knew of.

Harry yelped as he jumped up. "That root just tripped me!"

"Harry, maybe you were just not careful—ouch!" Hermione stumbled as her foot was entwined to something, but Luna caught her and the two witches managed to stay on their feet. They continued, but only while linking their arms, and it grew to be a hassle after a while. Hermione's speed in casting cutting spells after cutting spells around them grew more disciplined, and Harry followed her pace easily. Luna took care of repelling the extra branches to stay out of their way as they passed, but even after a while Harry saw that it was impossible to keep going like this all the way around the second hill.

They would be draining themselves too much.

After the fifth time of almost tripping, Harry lowered his voice into a hushed whisper and drew everyone closer together. "I don't want to keep walking in a forest like this."

"But there's no other road!" Hermione replied, worry also creasing her face.

"Harry might have a point. Didn't you feel like you've been going in circles for some time?" Luna asked, her voice soft. The wind blowing through the tunnel of trees created a strange whistling sound. Was it just his imagination that he thought it to be a mocking tone? A root snagged his left foot and he moved his standing position, glancing down for a moment. He was sure he hadn't been moving…

"We could all cast _Incendio_ if we've had enough of the trees," Hermione said. It made sense to use fire to fight wood. "Or _Incendio Minima_, at any rate."

Luna shook her head. "I don't think it's a wise idea. We don't know what they could do."

They sighed. Hermione was biting her lip while Luna seemed even more lost inside her thoughts than usual. The wind blew past them, above them, creaking a hundred twigs like a wave of whispers. The branches above them distorted the light falling down to an eerie pall cast. Harry had one hand in his mokeskin bag, idly running through the contents, trying not to think too much about where they were. There was something they could do, he was sure of it.

"Let's go up," he finally said.

"What?"

"Brooms," he replied. "Let's go up, above the treeline. We're supposed to be rounding the hill, right? How hard is it to do so from the air?"

"We might miss the next gate," Hermione pointed out, even as she seemed to be visibly paler. It was clear that as uneasy as she was with flying, she thought of it as a lesser evil than staying there. Luna shook her head.

"The next gate is already on the last hill, not on this one. We'd just fly away from here to the valley between the two hills, and then start walking again. I don't think we'll be missing it that way."

"So, brooms, then?" Harry asked, mainly to the group. From the way he and Luna turned to Hermione, though, it was clear that her opinion was going to be the deciding factor. Hermione cleared her throat, taking a deep fortifying breath and gave up on staying on solid ground.

"Fine. Brooms it is."

'-

For someone who hated flying, Hermione was surprisingly decent at it. That is, if she wasn't actively thinking of the many feet that now lay between her and the ground. This was why Luna considered the switch-thin branches whipping against them, as if intent on flaying them alive, as a good thing. If Hermione was annoyed enough that she was casting spells left and right, then she didn't have time to wonder how high they were right now.

"Are we close yet, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"I _think_ so."

"You _think_?"

Harry grunted something, more from his effort to dodge a falling tangle of mistletoe bush from above him. More mistletoe bushes rolled down on them for no reason; Luna and Hermione had to separate for a while as one the size of a sheep barrelled down between them. Luna had no choice but to pass some thorny holly trees to avoid them.

"We'll be out soon enough," Luna said, placating. She pushed her bangs out of her face before they obscured her sight. On second thoughts, the scratch on her brow was quite an annoyance as some blood fell into her eyes.

"The trees don't actually go up forever," Luna said.

"But we're not getting out not fast enough," Hermione said, her eyes keenly kept forward (in their case, that was generally upwards). She may be right, because Harry's broom seemed to have stuck on more than one branch, even as Harry urged it on. The two of them could easily go free now because Harry seemed to have attracted all the attention. Hermione had her wand out already.

"_Incendio Minima!_"

A small, focused ball of fire flew from Hermione's wand, attaching itself to the branches that had been giving Harry a hard time. The crackling of the wood around them sound at first like a whine, and then Luna noticed that it was not a whine anymore but a series of sharp snaps that soon spread out, gathering strength like a wave expanding in ripples. Behind them, she could see all the boles, thick and small, stately and reedy reaching for them at the same time.

Luna pulled her wand out and aimed down.

"_Aguamenti_." She cast, sending a blast of water downwards. Luna quickly moved to the next spell without a break. "_Frigidio_."

A jet of cold wind, and the branches were now covered with ice. Harry was busy opening the path forward, and redirecting the flame (he had a wand in his right hand and a burning branch in his left—only Harry could've flown a broom almost vertically with both hands free). Hermione noticed what Luna was doing and helped her finish it faster. They cast the same spell at almost the same time.

"_Reducto!_"

"_Reducto_."

The hatching of branches below them bent inward from the force of the combined spell, like a trampoline accomodating a heavy load. At first there was a small cracking sound from the centre, and then another, and soon the sounds spread like cracks on ice as wood broke under the combination of ice and pressure. Chips of wood flew up, some shrapnels flying dangerously close to them.

"Let's go! The way is clear for now." Harry shouted, slowing down to come to their level. He tapped Luna's elbow and Luna waved to Hermione. Before Harry flew ahead again, she found it prudent to hold Harry back.

"Harry, wait,"

"What?"

"Your broom's on fire."

Harry yelped—Luna launched another well-placed _Aguamenti_ as they soared away into the open sky, where the trees could not reach them.

'-

They landed at the edge of the forest as soon as they could see the white rapids of the river below them. The three had successfully flew out of the confusing tangle of forest, and down by the valley between Finhowe's two largest hills. Here, the river they had crossed early on separated their path as well on its bend, running fast over jagged white rocks even if it might not be quite deep. They found a comfortable spot to rest by the banks for a while.

Sweat beaded their face, and Luna didn't feel the cold at all even after flying at high speed.

"You almost burned my broom!" Harry complained.

"But we got out faster!" Hermione insisted, "I tried keeping it small, Harry. _Incendio Minima_, see? And we've managed to fix the few twigs that got singed on your broom."

Luna didn't exactly think they were 'just singed', but agreed that it was fixed quite well for now. Harry gave Hermione a tired _look_. Soon, they'd have to find the proper crossing to get back on the path again Luna thought. Though now it was rather doubtful that they could get anything done when at least two of them were arguing. The sky was strangely grey from all the cloud covering it, and the forest behind them seemed blurred from a developing mist. Luna couldn't quite be sure what time it was right now. Perhaps that was the point.

Luna took a potion-soaked ball of cotton out of her bag and wipe her cut away. When the annoying trickle that got into her eyesight was managed, she approached her friend and then whispered to Hermione's ear.

"You don't exactly sound like you're sorry for almost burning him. I think that's what peeved Harry."

Colour spread across Hermione's cheeks in embarassment. Harry was standing with both of his arms crossed in front of his chest at some distance from them. Hermione sighed.

"I didn't really realise how I sounded. Sorry for almost burning you, Harry. It was completely unintentional. I was… I guess I was panicking."

Harry rolled his eyes, but there was no doubt that he didn't take it personally when a small smile grew on his face. "Well, yeah, no harm done, anyway. You're the only person I know who adds more firepower when panicking and tried killing fire with fire, Hermione. You saw how the branches went rabid just before we broke away, right? But I _know _we get out alright because of you."

"Yes, I think that went well enough," Luna said. "Thank you, Hermione. We might want to avoid more fire spells in the middle of sentient forests later on, though."

If it was possible, Hermione went redder at the same time that Harry grinned.

'-

_- Finhowe – Crossing the Split Toll Bridge -_

"Was Finhowe always this big, Harry?" Hermione asked. Harry shrugged.

"I don't know. I mean, maybe, because I've never really spent much time here before."

"Finhowe could still be small," Luna said, knowing that her friends were staring at her at this point. "Because I don't think we're in Harry's Finhowe anymore."

Hermione took a deep breath. "Somehow, I knew you were going to say that."

Luna shrugged. "I could also be wrong."

They were keeping the river to their left now, trying to find a crossing point. Still, they weren't too close to it that they couldn't have a conversation (the water was loud). The large rocks barred their way again more than once and their feet were beginning to ache. They had to clamber over one already that was practically blocking their way (it was the size of a horse), and had jumped over more than a few. The thickets weren't much better here than in the forest proper either. They stopped once to open their shoes, to check whether any sores were forming and heal them if so, but it wasn't for long. None of them mentioned it, but they weren't too keen on still being out near the forest by the time the sky darkened.

"At this rate, you know that we'd have to think about staying overnight, right?" Harry asked, ignoring the look of dismay from Hermione and an accepting one from Luna. "Look at the sky. It's dark. It looks like…"

"It looks like late afternoon?" Luna said.

"Just late, I think."

"Or maybe a storm's coming up," Hermione said, to which Harry blanched.

'-

It was some distance later that they found the stone bridge crossing the river between Finhowe's tallest two hills. The bridge was certainly not steel-framed and mainly of stone, but it looked sturdy, a proud firm curve between the indistinct forms of the separate fog-covered banks. They were initially relieved that it came into sight, but apprehension replaced it quickly when they saw that it wasn't empty. The sky was dimming, but still they couldn't guess what time it was. Just before tea time, maybe.

Harry had an omnicular out before anyone else did, and what he saw wasn't heartening to anyone. A troll with thick leathery skin was there, moss draped over at various points as a traditional garb, as was common of many river trolls (unlike the smart uniforms he had seen the ones guarding Gringotts' Paris branch). If there was an article that seemed strange on it, it would be the smart emerald sash the troll wore diagonally over the right shoulder. Its forehead was pronounced, as was usual of its species, along with a lumbering gait.

It stood astride the bridge with a frighteningly large club at hand.

"It's a _troll_." Harry said.

"Iwain is going to owe me something _big_," Hermione muttered, shuddering. "I hate trolls."

"I don't think you hate them, Hermione. Fear them, maybe. I'm afraid of trolls too, but I don't really hate them," Luna said.

Hermione sighed. "I don't really see any difference between that. So how are we going to pass this _troll_? No one _really_ thought that we could actually defeat it, right?"

"Not really," Harry said, his voice at the edge of hearing. He was too absorbed in watching that he had stopped walking. Luna and Hermione pulled theirs out of their bags just to see what was on the bridge.

The two of them then saw what Harry had seen earlier. The _troll_, larger than three bears in girth and almost twice the height of any man. His greenish fist were effectively clubs in their own right and would easily send anyone flying across the bridge and straight into the bone-cold river.

"Couldn't we just fly across?" Hermione asked, grouchy. Luna whistled in amazement.

"Hermione willingly flies!" Luna exclaimed.

Harry raised his eyebrows at the bookworm. "You know, I never thought I'd see that coming," It was defnitely one sentence he had never expected to hear from one Hermione Granger.

"This is an emergency!" Hermione added, hurriedly. "I mean, if you have to consider _swimming_ across an icy river in _winter_ and facing a _troll_, I think flying is the far more preferrable choice of them all."

"I don't think so. The bridge… Merlin's underwear, I've never thought it was possible before, but the bridge _forked_ into three," Harry said.

It wasn't quite visible from their angle, but having an omnicular helped—Hermione soon saw what Harry meant. Beyond the troll, the bridge split into three paths, each a covered bridge. There were wooden beams as supporting walls and a roof over them. Harry shook his head. "This is definitely _not_ the Finhowe I know. I think I still remember the river to be smaller than this, too."

"But why make a forked bridge instead of a forked road?" Luna asked. Her friends stilled as they considered her question. "Maybe there's something nasty on the ground that they were trying to avoid, like Wendel's Lethifold."

Harry kicked Hermione's shin by reflex.

"Hey! What did I do?"

"Sorry. Just a bad habit of mine." Harry said. Hermione was surprisingly amicable with Luna's comment, especially considering that Wendel's Lethifold wasn't one of the official kinds of Lethifold recognised in general overview books. On the other hand, perhaps she was distracted enough by what was in front of them. Harry had thought that the troll was all there is to see about the bridge, but when he pulled his omnicular away, he saw that Luna and Hermione was still using them—and directing them to more or less the same place.

The fork of the bridge that was closest to them continued on to the bank on the other side, and into the forest. It was no longer simply a bridge; it was a _tunnel_, a covered path. Harry couldn't help but mull over Luna's words. What could possibly be in the forest that there were enclosed paths like that?

"So, who wants to take a chance with the forest?" Harry asked, his voice a little too bright.

"We have no choice," Hermione said, dejected, "we'd have to get past the troll after all."

'-

"Are we sure we're downwind from the troll?" Harry asked.

"There's no upwind right now. I think it's pretty safe if we go closer to observe better." Luna answered.

"I _really_ don't think it's a good idea," Hermione said. "But I've no other recommendation other than just make camp here, and I'm sure no one wants that. So, alright. I guess we have to get closer."

Hermione wasn't quite sure what it was that they expected to see at a closer range that wasn't visible from a distance with an omnicular. The warts on the trolls face? Nah, that was pretty visible too. How exactly he wore his loincloth? Hermione could even make out the sort of knot he used. The fabric of his sash? "Wait, why aren't we just watching him from a distance with omniculars?"

"I'm using an omnicular right now," Luna said.

"But why do we need to get closer?"

"Well, we have to pay him," Luna said. Hermione furrowed her brows. They were approaching the bridge at a rate that was too fast for comfort for her. Luna didn't seemed concerned, and Harry seemed to trust her implicitly. When Hermione cast her eye and omnicular towards the bridge, she found the reason for Luna's calmness.

There was a booth behind the troll, with a big board on top of it. On it were several sketches; there was a picture of a large yellow circle, several light grey coloured ones as well as nearly point-like, ochre ones. There were scribblings of stick people to the side of the circles. It was only after some pondering that Hermione realised what it meant.

The troll was guarding a toll booth.

'-

"So the point is, we're paying him?" Hermione asked.

"Well, we've got no reason to fight him," Harry answered, "and I think Luna's idea is the best. It makes sense to pay a troll guarding a toll booth."

"How do we even know we have the coin needed?" Hermione asked again. Harry glanced at the booth once before replying.

"I thought it was pretty obvious? I counted the silver coins; that's seven Sickles for us."

"Why must it be Sickles? Why couldn't it be seven pieces of eight?" She asked back. "How do you know that the doodles are what you think they are?"

Harry groaned, "Why are we making this harder that it should be?"

"Do you actually want to take the _risk_?" Hermione said, but looking quite satisfied that they didn't dismiss her idea outright.

Luna nodded, a finger on her chin as she thought over it. "Hmmm… I see what you mean. What guarantee is there that he accepts wizard money and not something else?"

Hermione nodded.

"Well, I know a good way to find out."

Luna pulled a few coins from her bag and marched straight towards the troll, leaving her flabbergasted friends gaping behind. Harry broke into a run and Hermione followed soon not long after that.

'-

"Luna!" Harry shouted.

It wasn't clear if he actually should do that, considering how close she was to the troll. He might even be bringing unnecessary attention towards her, but Harry wasn't thinking clearly at this point. His heartbeat was in his ears, and his feet had moved before he even thought about it. All he wanted to do was to get her out of danger and fast, especially considering how foolhardy his friend was. To his credit, the troll only turned his head towards the Lovegood witch when he heard her approaching, but didn't do anything worrisome like trying to clobber her into undefined bits with his club. He merely grunted, and it was the sort of sound that one hears more with one's chest than one's ears, but he stayed in his position. It was only when Luna was close that the troll jabbed a shovel-like palm out at her.

"Seven sickles for one child," Luna said, dropping the coins on his palm.

The troll lifted the coins to his face and sniffed them. He picked one up and bit it. Harry grimaced; he was pretty sure he could hear the metal buckle under the deadly teeth. Not to mention that the coin came out with greenish bits stuck on it. He hoped the troll wasn't trying to return that and get a new one.

"Bork thinks coin good!" He boomed, complete with his club being swung against the bridge under his feet. The vibrations made his feet unsteady. Hermione had surreptitiously edged away to avoid the rain of saliva—Luna had blithely taken her umbrella from her bag and opened it. Harry was a little too close to the blonde witch and a little too slow that he was splattered with saliva, and perhaps the remants of the Bork's last meal (in this case, it seemed to be a few patches of rat fur).

Luna patted his hand sympathetically. "A few scourgifies and you'd be fine, Harry."

Harry took a deep breath and sighed.

"Can I pass after paying?" Luna asked Bork. Bork shook his head.

"Not now. Bork needs to weigh coins."

'-

Hermione's curiosity had won over her fear and caution, and she moved closer to see what Bork was doing as he moved with prodigious steps towards his booth. The booth itself was surprisingly sophisticated for a troll to watch over, as she noticed there were several objects on it. There was a pile of tokens, each with pictures of various creatues—Hermione guessed that this was how Bork recorded each traveller; by sliding the token that represented the traveler into a steel stick. There was an enormous coin jar, of the size that could fit a pickled armadillo inside it— its girth reminded Hermione more of the line of preserved specimens in a natural history museum than a corner grocery store. Then, there was a set of scales, placed centrally in the middle. Bork plunked Luna's coins (including the dent one) on one side of it, and a group of coin imitations on the other. Hermione wasn't quite sure what kind of metallic alloy the coins were made of, but she could surmise that they were supposed to represent the ideal coin used for payment. What surprised her was that there were more than one kind of dummy coins.

Harry was still in the effort of scourgifying himself with Luna's assistance, and trying to do it as quietly as he could. Hermione thought it was a good idea too—they don't know whether Bork was averse to magic, and wizards and witches, or not.

Bork shook his head, carrying Luna's sickles with him. "Coins weigh less. Need more coins."

"I'm Luna," Luna said suddenly. She extended her hand for Bork to shake. He accepted it with surprising care for someone his size. Hermione was concerned for a moment that she would get her bones crunched.

"Bork. Luna give Bork more silver coins. Luna's coins not enough."

"My coins aren't enough? Alright, I'll give you more coins," Luna reached for her money bag somewhere on her waist, and pulled more sickles from it. She gave Bork three more. "Here."

Bork took Luna's new coins with the hand that was holding her old. Hermione stepped aside when he went to his booth, dropping the coins on the scales again. He took one sickle off when it seemed that the scales tilted to one side, and when the scales tilted back towards the side of the dummies, he bit the sickle he had taken off into two. Then, he dropped one half of it on the scales. The scales were still not quite balanced, but it was closer now. Bork grunted in satisfaction and started counting the sickles.

"One, two, a lot, many…"

At first Hermione held back a small smile at the way the troll counted. But Bork did something she hadn't expected. He continued counting, consistently.

"Many-one, many-two, many-alot, many-many. Many-many one, Many-many two, Many-many… wait, this coin not one. Many-many two and a half."

Hermione's eyes widened. She didn't know that the old wizard joke of how a troll couldn't count beyond two had a deeper truth behind it, other than being condescending. Trolls weren't exactly stupid—previous wizards who had met them simply didn't understand what the trolls were doing.

"You're very smart, Bork," Hermione commented.

Bork nodded, his chest puffing outwards with pride. "Yes. Bork very smart. No troll in Bork's village smarter than Bork. Bork strong too. Bork will be chieftain one day."

Hermione stared at him, speechless. He wanted to be a chieftain. Bork was beyond what she had known and read about trolls, she could remember several lines at the top of head. Trolls were described as 'A beast who uses naught but brute force, mindlessly following its instincts. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures safeguards the safety of citizens of the wizarding world by ensuring that they are not allowed to roam freely outside designated areas, and only then only with a certified magical beast handler'. She couldn't imagine that Bork was to take the enforcement of a beast handler upon him as anything but an offence.

Bork carried Luna's coins proudly in his hands and lumbered back to Luna.

He shifted the green sash he was wearing back up, as it had started to slide down. From the care that he took to maintain its position, she could tell that it was a piece of clothing that he wore with pride. The two ends of the sash were held in place with a large wooden pin, green painted. On it were three white circles.

"Luna gets half back," Bork declared, giving Luna the bitten-off half. Luna accepted it graciously.

"Thank you, Bork."

"Luna pay many-many two and a half coins. Luna's friends pay many-many two and a half coins too. Each." he said, and Luna gazed at the remaining half, trying to make sense of it.

"The rate is ten and a half if we pay in sickles," Hermione added helpfully. Luna's eyes brightened as she saw what she meant.

"Ooh, _many-many two and a half_. I never thought I'd see firsthand the famed troll counting system! Can I write it down, Bork? I _have_ to tell my father about this. He'd be so pleased that he was right all along." Luna pulled her bag down and took a scroll and quill from it. Hermione stared at Luna in amazement.

"You know about it, Luna?"

Luna nodded. "Of course. There had been rumours, and parts of troll conversation that someone overheard. No one had anything solid, though." The blonde witch turned to Bork.

"How does it start?"

Bork scratched his head, still proud and slightly embarassed even as he counted from one. Luna copied all of it diligently down. Hermione let Luna borrow her back to write on.

"I see. What comes after many-many-many alot?"

"Easy. Much."

"Much?"

The troll grunted in assent. "Much. Much-one, Much-two, much-alot."

"Much-many?"

Bork grinned, all sharp teeth and almost from ear-to-ear, showing his large jaws. "Luna very smart too. Yes, much-many,"

Luna beamed at him. At some other situation with a different, far less intelligent troll, it would be a worrisome development, Hermione thought, somehow recalling a moment when she had to duck under a sink to avoid one. It was an odd memory she couldn't quite place, and thus one that she disregarded rather quickly. She didn't like things she couldn't categorise easily.

"Then much-many-one, and much-many-two…" Bork continued.

Hermione watched the rest of the exchange between Bork and Luna with fascination. Harry felt slightly left out and bewildered.

"Many-many two and a half sickles? What is that?" He asked Hermione, rather bemused. Harry had just finished wiping his glasses. His black hair had gotten back to its usual condition of sticking out at wrong angles and in the most unexpected places, regardless of the comb he had in his hand and his efforts to bring them into order. It was still admittedly a better look than seeing his hair washed down with the _eau de troll belch_ on him earlier.

"It's troll count for ten and a half sickles, Harry," Hermione said. "I've taken eleven sickles out, so you'd only need to take ten. I think that covers all our toll."

"I bet there's a long explanation behind that," he said. He was surprised seeing the ease at which Hermione and Luna held themselves around Bork. Harry reached into his pockets for the needed coins.

"That's finished! Alright, we can walk now and talk on the way," Luna said as she rolled her parchment and dropped it inside her bag again. Hermione pooled her coins and Harry's and handed it to Bork, who went back to his booth and his scales. After some time fiddling, it was clear that Bork was satisfied with their sickles.

"Luna and friends pay good. Bork is happy."

"Err, well, we're pretty happy too if you're happy," Harry replied, still discomfited by the show of large teeth by a troll that was a little too close for comfort—not that Hermione didn't feel that as well. She tried to ignore the goosebumps rising at the back of her neck.

"Now, Luna and friends can run," Bork said, cheerfully.

Hermione stuttered, feeling her blood run cold as her worst phobia came about. "_Run?_"

The forest troll took out a large hourglass from the booth. Its glass was so thick that one could barely see the sand inside it—and Hermione noticed that it wasn't sand, it was some sort of liquid, glowing green.

"Bork guards bridge. When people don't pay, Bork hits them. Most people pay. Bork takes glass clock out and people run crossing bridge. Bork won't chase them until clock finished."

"But I thought we're _friends_!" Hermione said.

Bork nodded. "Yes, _good_ friends. So Bork happy to see friends again. If friends fail, friends hafto run again. Bork sees friends again. See? Bork _happy_."

"And if we're caught?" Hermione asked tentatively.

"People don't cross bridge and Bork keeps coins. People try again after." Bork said with a grin, and then he turned the hourglass. "Clock starts. Luna and friends can run now. Bork wishes to see friends again."

'-

"This isn't so bad," Luna commented as the three of them ran at full speed away from the toll booth and the troll guarding it. Her straw-coloured hair was flying wild behind her, wilder than it usually was. They had been running for a while already, and somehow they did not seem to be anywhere close to halfway there yet. "My father always say, enough physical exercise…" Luna took a deep breath, "…will keep you healthy."

"This is _really_ not the time, Luna!" Hermione shouted, her curls bouncing and frizzing. She glanced back once, just to make sure that Bork hadn't set off. The fact that they hadn't felt any heavy thudding on the bridge might've been a clue about that, actually.

"Alright! There are three tunnels; the left, centre, and right." Harry said, carefully measuring his breath to keep his running speed. The bridge reverberated under them and Harry cleared his throat nervously. Bork was definitely on the move. "I know we're _not_ taking the one in the middle. That would've gone straight up."

"The right!" Hermione and Luna said at almost the same time. Hermione continued.

"If we keep going counterclockwise round the hill, like we did before, then we take the right path."

"Are you sure?" Harry yelled back.

The vibrations on the stone bridge were getting louder. Bork's voice boomed behind them. "Bork is coming! Bork is coming! Everyone get ready, BORK IS COMING!"

Neither of the split and roofed parts of the bridge were a comforting sight. All three were dark; Hermione couldn't see any light coming from inside (she was beginning to worry that there were no lighting _at all_ there). She could feel the dry cold wind hitting her face from all three, and she wondered where they lead. Still, she didn't feel like getting a second try at running again. Even now her chest felt painfully tight already, and the burning sensation around it spreading. Hermione couldn't quite stop herself from panicking, even when she knew that panicking would only make you use up valuable oxygen faster and less efficiently. Sometimes, knowing something wasn't enough to make yourself able to do it.

"YES!" Hermione yelled. "Yes, let's take the right one!"

With one last desperate push, the three friends jumped headlong into the darkness of the third tunnel, just as Bork extended his very long arms at them.

'-

**Author's ****End ****Note**:

*The poem at the beginning of this chapter is by the brilliant and esteemed J. R. R. Tolkien, written in _Lord of the Rings_. I'm just borrowing it for fun and no profit. Honest.

The troll counting system was inspired by Terry Pratchett's in _Men at Arms_. I modified it to something that suits my preference (basically a more consistent system), but I still owe him for the inspiration. For anyone who like quirky inventiveness in their fantasy, his work is well recommended. This is probably the last time I try to hack an ASCII art—it's a pain adjusting it to work out alright in FFNet's font, and then double that when you realise that the site will eat up excess space in any text.

Lastly, any feedback is welcome. I'd like to know what you find interesting in this story and what I did right (or what I didn't get right). That way, I can tweak the next chapters better.


	6. 05 Sanctuaries Won't Last Forever I

**Author's Note**: Thanks for all the reviews, even if I'm not always able to reply to those without the PM feature on. On the subsequent updates after this I would probably slow down a little, what with the beginning of grad school and all because I'd be giving my best to keep my scholarship. With that said, after considering Aeonir's suggestions, I think that it might not really be a bad thing to intersperse the stories with the adults' viewpoints as well as updates on how the War is progressing because it seems I have the habit of piling up mysteries. I dragged some sections originally intended in future chapters an plopped them here earlier for that and I hope some details are now better clarified. On the other hand, somehow additional weird stuff was generated as I continued writing...

So! Let's put that aside for now and get on with the show.

'-

**05: Sanctuaries Won't Last Forever – A Myriad of Intersections**

_In which we encounter a Grand Guignol, a gaggle at a Gate, a Granger in Gaul, a glimmer of bygone Greece, and last but not least, the first glimpse of Gellert Grindelwald._

'_-_

**February 1940 **

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – an Interlude_

Geoffrey Potter walked in long, confident strides out of the Headmaster's office, his hair still proudly black apart from the silver at his temples. For a man in his seventies, he did not look to be beyond his late forties—a sure sign of a wizard of certain talent. He was sure that Albus would look much younger than he was at that age, but he supposed that was another matter entirely—this was Albus, _I-found-an-age-delaying-potion-with-dragonblood_, Dumbledore, and that was still skimming the top of his achivements, (Not to mention that this was also the young wizard who was Flamel's infamous apprentice).

The Potter family patriarch hadn't been into Hogwarts for a while now, and the familiar smell of the centuries-old stone greeted him. He almost smiled as he listened to fragments of arguments about quidditch strategy and another of a very obscure charm form that was about to come up in NEWTS. The younger students were mostly oblivious of who he was and walked around him with only a polite nod to the older gentleman. The senior years had better education and memory of who was who, and always took their time to lift their hats to him.

Whatever they did, he never distracted them from their concerns for too long, and they returned to the last topic they had been talking about with their friends.

_Easily drifting back into their own little clouds_, he thought with bemusement. Parchment rustled as a student or two looked up their notes and ink-smudged fingers wave with zeal in the defence of one argument or another. This wasn't the hallways of the ministry—whatever disagreements there were here, they were still honest ones. It wasn't really politics yet—not yet, no matter what the kids might think. The bitterness and jealousy wasn't as sharp as departmental competition or annual budget meetings, and a long-forgotten longing surged in his mind. The peace of mind given in this coccoon of the academic world, was something he realised he missed terribly.

It was his duty and everyone else's, he supposed, to do his best to keep the adult bickering away from this sanctuary of youth. It was too bad that he had to shift that balance now and drag the mess of the real world into it without as much as a pardon and an excuse, and knowing that he could do nothing to lessen the impact other than hoping that Hogwarts could withstand it.

The main reason that he was the Director of the DMLE was because the Minister would rather have him create problems where he could see it than someplace else unexpected. No matter how much he'd rather avoid the petty bickerings of career bureaucrats, Geoffrey accepted the position. He had realised that he could still protect his family and everyone else he held dear better than if someone else were on the post. To do that, though, meant there were always choices to be made.

_If Hogwarts will have to be uncomfortable for a while, so be it_, he thought, _it is better than standing isolated and yet alone in the war_.

Alliances, after all, always require some sacrifice. His only concern now was to see if he could get the low-profile scion of the Dumbledore family on his side.

'-

Most people would say that Albus Dumbledore had the double good fortune of knowing Geoffrey Potter, and being younger by thirteen years to never meet him at school. Albus thought it was actually unfortunate that they hadn't encountered each other at Hogwarts; that would have made for undoubtedly interesting times in Hogwarts. The Potter family patriarch was a right terror when he walked the hallowed halls of the school, for his pranks ignored the invisible line drawn between houses to sow panic and wreck havoc across students of various types and temperaments. That rabble-rousing edge wasn't something he lost with his age either.

Geoffrey had never felt any sort of _responsibility_ on his side to wear only the traditional wizarding robes ('The nerve he has! The impudence!' the old ladies had chattered, decades ago). He was ahead of the people of his generation in accepting that morning and evening coats along with the rest of modern formal wear were a good idea.

That was why he stood out so easily in a crowd. Like now, where he cut a striking figure in navy-blue coat among the sea of robed students in Hogwarts, just beyond the gargoyle leading to Dippet's office.

Albus furrowed his brows. curiosity warred with concern concreting into a ball at the pit of his stomach. _For what cause would the Director of the DMLE need to talk with the Headmaster of Hogwarts?_

The fact that his friend had taken a path straight in his direction the moment he saw the transfiguration professor only gave more credence to Albus' gut feeling.

"Good afternoon, Albus! I'm so very glad to see you. I see you're still in vigorous health, as always?"

"Afternoon Geoffrey," Albus replied with a mild smile, even if it was far from what he was feeling. "Me? Vigorous? I'm merely the odd academic here. I hear _you're_ still going alongside the youngsters in fieldwork sometimes, even up to the questionable wharfs. What would Edith's mother say to that if she's still around, I ask you?"

Geoffrey grinned before he did a very good imitation of his dearly deceased mother-in-law. "'_Stay away from that devious boy! He's not good enough for you!_' I don't think it would change much all these years. Even her portraits still say that."

The two wizards were hard to miss in the middle of the hallway, as they were a study of interesting extremes. One was dark-haired, where the other was light, and one was in a modern suit where the other wore traditional robes—and there was that certain sizzle in the air that one never missed when a strong wizard was around. Curious sixth and seventh years sometimes slowed down a little around them to catch their conversation even if most were still too polite to stare or stop outright. The director did not seem to mind the occurrence of slightly more Slytherins and Ravenclaws holding back their steps around the two of them than any other house. Albus' old house tended to instil the value of reliable intelligence to its members to keep one's upper hand, while the other one collected children that were compulsive hoarders of knowledge.

It did not escape Albus' notice that Geoffrey's smile did not reach his eyes, no matter how cheerful his tone was. When he subtly moved the conversation to how it would be better for them to speak in his quarters, with the perfect pretense of how he had so many things to say about his grandkids, worry took over Albus' thoughts completely even as he smiled back and lead the way. The Potter wizard dropped the pretence of friendly visit completely once Albus closed the door to his quarters.

"Your old friend is up to no good," Geoffrey stated.

"You might want to be more specific about that," Albus said wryly, trying to ease the tension. "The Minister has complained often enough how all of my friends are up to no good."

That afforded him a small smile, but Geoffrey was still standing instead of immediately sitting down as he had always done. The place was furnished with many classic pieces of furniture and various shades of brown and cream—warm and comfortable enough with good taste, as anyone who had been there could say. Geoffrey walked to the closest window with his hand behind his back. He did not pace or rush his movements. That there was something on his mind was clear, and any other person apart from Albus would not be able to see the slight flick of his brows that meant it was something serious that was occupying his thoughts.

"Let's start from the smaller of several bad news, shall we?" Geoffrey said, calm and unhurried. The way he didn't fidget at all did not bode well at all. "First, what do you know about the muggle war that is engulfing Europe and even Britain right now?"

"An unfortunate event, certainly. War is never a good thing." He replied, as careful as he always did.

"You're not concerned about the wizarding communities in the continent?" The dark-haired wizard asked, still looking out of the window, akin to a particularly watchful eagle surveying the hunting ground below his eyrie. His sharp brown eyes and the angular cut of coat below an outer robe certainly aided the association.

"They could get away from the muggle cities and into the more isolated forests and countryside. The muggles would not be looking for anything there, and they would still be left well enough alone."

A short bark of laughter was Geoffrey's reply to that, and the Director turned to the auburn-haired wizard.

"And I suppose you will say that they are _safe_ because of that?"

Albus shook his head carefully. It wasn't the word he would choose. "There is nothing safe about living, Geoffrey. We both know that."

Geoffrey Potter turned around and reached his friend within a few brisk steps, completely calm except for the strange glint in his eyes. His voice was still soft when he spoke again, but firmer. There was steel below the layers of velvet.

"You needn't be so discreet and protective with me, Albus. I'm not Dippet—I don't need your assurances to calm my fears. What I can do with, are answers and solutions. Now, answer me this. Do you truly think that they are safest there? That the war will not reach them that way? What is it that you actually _think_?"

_It's worry_, Albus thought. Geoffrey Potter was _worried_, and that took Albus' attention more than talks of the war itself (there will always be wars, and he doubted the muggles would change much over a few generations, while wizards have always avoided them).

"As far as I know, yes, they are quite safe there," Albus said, before frowning at his friend. "What brought this about? You don't _fear_ anything, Geoffrey. I think you could be a tad foolish—rash, even—but I think I've never seen you _fret_."

Geoffrey sighed. For a moment he seemed to have aged by a decade. Albus had patience in spades as he waited for an answer, any answer. After a while Geoffrey turned to him again.

"Bring out your pensieve Albus, and I'd share with you what Charlus and Benjamin had shared with me. If you can tell me without a worry in the world that it is indeed nothing of concern, I am going to give you all the tea in Cochin China."

'-

It was half an hour later before the two wizards have walked out of the memory that Geoffrey Potter had pulled out. This time Albus didn't even think before nodding when his friend offered to pour some port for both of them. Albus opened the conversation while Geoffrey's gaze seemed intent in trying to find the meaning of life in his glass.

"That...surely is not common weapon of the muggles, is it? Perhaps it is expensive and hard to acquire?"

"I'm not well versed in its manufacture nor costs, but Theo told me about how he had acquired it from a _factory_, with Benjamin's directions and help. There are thousands of them, _manufactured _with incredible speed _every day_. All it takes to flatten a wizarding village the likes of Hogsmeade is a few well-placed ones..." Geoffrey muttered, continuing on about explosion strengths and what other experiments his son had done.

Albus waited, his curiosity stoked. He had hoped that Geoffrey would clarify further who this mysterious 'Benjamin' was, and from which family he came from. In the memory that Geoffrey showed him, even Charlus and Theo seemed to be talking about their friend without his form in sight. Albus was quite sure he couldn't recall anyone with a similar name ever passing Hogwarts when Charlus and Theo was finishing their education. There was a certain Boniface Zabini, but he was well beyond their years...

"Albus, you have to start contacting our friends in the continent and spread the news. The faster they can remove themself and their families, the better." Geoffrey said as he took another sip.

It was Albus' turn to sigh. Concern was good, but talking to other old pureblood families? It would be arguing against a brick wall—and even a brick wall would be more amenable to reasonable argument of a giant hammer. "Remove themselves to where? Even _before_ this debacle, _Spain_ was already caught up in some irrational civil war and more than one family lost contact with their Spanish branch. I'm not sure if things have gotten better now. Ask the Zabinis, if you don't believe me. Still, no one proposed an evacuation of their families—they're quite sure they'd be alright because wizards have always been good at staying low."

The consternation that spread across his friend's visage showed that he had a problem with Albus' conclusion, but Geoffrey said nothing for a while and that odd, placid serenity returned. It was the sort of expression that was only possible when one is holding back almost everything.

"By the way, I've spoken to Dippet about his responsibility to prepare the school for the oncoming wave of children avoiding the war in Europe. Hogwarts will have to open up the classes in the old wings, towers, dungeons and other places. The room and lodgings available would also need to be increased. Imagine that, Albus, it's not just first-years that are going to get sorted now."

That took Albus by surprise. "What? I've heard nothing about that—"

"Of course you haven't. You're the one who's going to spread the news to the continental wizards and that is why I broke the news to you. Now you've heard of it," Geoffrey said just as casually, matching Albus' disbelieving stare with a confident one.

"Come on. The International Magical Relations Department in the Ministry of Magic is more bureaucratic than anything else—they can't do this job. They don't know who to get the news out to. Our diplomats have almost always been unofficially appointed. They're basically just whichever charming wizard from a respectable family that happened to be on a Grand Tour in Europe, or is there for whatever affairs needed settling. We practically _don't_ have a _corps diplomatique_ right now. Not with this fracas."

He paused, half waiting for Albus to try to deny it. He didn't need to challenge Albus when he knew his arguments spoke for themselves. When his friend wasn't saying anything, he placed his glass firmly on the table and continued.

"We have to get word out to the heads of families like Corin von Alsing, Apollonius Meissen, the Murats or Ingebjørg Tordenfeldt. They will not listen to just any other messenger coming out from Britain, to some whelp still wet behind the ears out sent to parrot a message he didn't fully understand either. We have had ministers who forget that we need to be polite and courteous to our neighbours if we want their respect to last, and that we need to have been light with our assistance beforehand if we want theirs in our time of need."

There was something cutting in his tone, but it seemed to be directed inwards than anywhere. As if he rather regretted not to have shaken said previous ministers personally when they were being disappointing. He turned his gaze back to Albus at this point.

"Now, we pay for that carelessness by having to send a ridiculously overpowered messenger if we want them to pay attention, if at all. We need a diplomat with the capacity to throw fireballs to open his way, if you will."

Albus chuckled.

"You're not the weakest and most unnoticeable of wizards either, Geoffrey. Why do you insist it to be me instead of you?"

The dark-haired wizard nodded, lowering his head in deference slightly. "I'm not as strong as you in terms of raw power, or knowledge."

Albus laughed at that, freer than any of the other teachers had ever seen. "That line will not work to bloat my ego unnecessarily, Geoffrey, though you may try it out on younger people still. We know it is not just _power_ that makes a person. Besides, let's not get into the pedantic details on what knowledge actually matters when you're cornered on the wrong side of the Thames, with a mob looking for a scapegoat after some sod had buggered the mundanes magically and ran."

Geoffrey chuckled and soon both of them were laughing; a little more from reminiscences than the present. Geoffrey shrugged and leaned back, somehow leaving barely a crease on his clothes. A lesser wizard would have been green with envy. "I'm still Director of the DMLE, remember? The minister is going to have a fit when he finds out that some of his command staff is flitting all over Europe on a lark."

Albus still did not quite understand why Geoffrey had come to him to say all this. He could've contacted just about anyone else; the Prewetts, perhaps. It wasn't as if either Andronicus or his son Adrian was very busy right now. This was all too elaborate and complicated for a simple ruse, or a joke to play on a friend.

"I have classes to teach as well, or did you forget who holds the transfiguration chair in Hogwarts?"

"Take a week of holiday, then," Geoffrey said, with no heavier inflection than if he was talking about the recent bout of showers that fell across the Midlands. "Choose at least seven places in Europe to visit in the course of seven days. I can supply you with all the floo powder you need, no matter how exotic the kind. Charlus could teach in your stead for the time. He has always been good at it, and he had been getting some practice lately when Dorea and her friends had the idea to teach the grandchildren themselves. You can test him if you don't believe me, and you can proceed to bury him with your teaching notes. I'm sure he has nothing important to do right now."

"You seem awfully certain that you've brought me both the trouble and the solution at once," Albus said. Less than five people had seen this more blunt side of the good-natured transfigurations master. He didn't even blink at Albus' words. "For one who complains about how I placate people, you're appallingly ham-handed in pulling strings."

"You could say no, if it is that disagreeable to you,' Geoffrey said, a small smile still on his lips. It seemed as if he was laughing at himself than anything. "Then I will go myself, and say what needs to be said to those who need to hear it. We wizards have to stand together if we want to survive the coming war. I would ask for your help, that you be more watchful of the ministry while I'm away, and let's see how _you _handle the Minister for me. We can't really afford someone making a stupid move at a time like this—certainly not the _MoM_."

Albus wanted to insist to Geoffrey that all they need to do was stay out of the way. No muggle had ever managed to find anything wizards had rendered unplottable, and even the bombs will not do any damage when they could not be delivered to their targets. Yet he did not like being overly-confident of his own position when he wasn't sure of the kind of cards his friend was holding. There was something in his bright green eyes that held back unmentioned secrets and details—it wasn't as if Albus himself didn't do it, but it was quite the pain in the neck when one becomes the mark and not the dealer. Geoffrey glanced once at his friend's expression, noting the disbelief there.

"You're thinking that I'm going on a fool's errand right now, is that right? Really, don't even think of apologizing for it—before the day ends, I'm probably the one who needs to apologize to you. I have another bad news for you, Albus," he paused, a word hanging on the tip of his tongue, but it was clear that Geoffrey would rather not say it if he could. His friend sighed and continued with reluctance.

"Does the word... _Hexenmeister_ ring any bell to you?"

_Hexenmeister_. If he was any younger, Albus might have dropped anything he was holding right now.

It was a word he hadn't been expecting to hear again in his lifetime, especially not any place close to what he regarded as home. It was not as much as the meaning as to the first person he had heard to use it. The still-bright afternoon sun fell in stark beams over them, creating harsh angles between the extremes of shadow and light.

"How about if I tell you know that the muggles have found out that, under certain special operations, each one of the German units has one _Hexenmeister_ assigned to them? The muggles are wondering, Albus, just what kind of person is a Hexenmeister to be assigned as a support, _alone_. This isn't a matter of obliviation either, since it is already a systematic breach at this point. We can't risk mass hyteria or insanity that would get modern-day versions of the Inquisition at our heels. We simply have to deal with it. If you want someone to blame, then blame the war."

Albus took a deep breath. It would seem that everything was slowly going to hell in a handbasket. Yet how is it that no news had reached him yet, apart from what Geoffrey said? How could the wizards and witches of Britain not display any concern for whatever changes happened in the continent? Compared to the muggles, they had kept better touch with far-flung places. Almost all travels are only a series of chimneys and terminals away now with the establishment of the floo network, and no place too remote to be visited on summer holidays. The Malfoys and the Blacks have whiled their time in summer houses on the Black Sea quite often in these more advanced days.

Something that Geoffrey had said earlier struck him. _'We have to get word out to the heads of families..._' That was the answer that he was looking for. The other wizarding societies hadn't thought much of this 'muggle war', of this war that turned out to have Hexenmeisters in it—that would be their downfall if the horrors of war had dawned on them too late.

"This exposure... it's a breach of the Post-Napoleonic, Magical Non-Involvement Pact. We have the Pendragon Treaty for that, Geoffrey," Albus murmured.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. Magical war was supposed to be announced to other magical governments, and there had always been the gentlemen's agreement to not involve the muggle world—at least that was how it was now, in more civilised times. He didn't think that there would be a war where someone would overturn all that so easily, so casually.

_That was the problem, isn't it Albus? _He thought, _you weren't thinking. You weren't thinking about him at all because you didn't want to_.

Albus Dumbledore closed his eyes as memories flew past. If he had thought about it sooner, he might've noticed all this mess before it devolved this far...

'-

"_What did you just do, Gellert?" Albus yelled. He was young, almost out of Hogwarts but not yet, not exactly, his light brown hair fell down his back. Gellert waved at him with a smile, a warm sunshine that lightens one's mood and as cherubic as always, the blond sheen of his hair glistening under the summer day. Albus hated the way his heart rose by reflex, how he couldn't quite still the longing that still stirred in his breast, even when he had heard the miserable moaning surrounding them. Gellert had turned this meadow into a bloody freak circus._

"_It's an experiment, like what I've told you. I met all these nice fellows at the nearest market who said that they were looking for a job. Well, I gave them jobs, of course. Now their families get to have food on their table."_

"_But why does that man have the head of a wolf, no, a werewolf? Why is he...threaded like that?" Albus said. What he didn't say was, ' Why is his skin opened in flaps at joints, and the whitish gristle there tied to a fine rope thrown around a tree a couple times?' _

"_And why is that troll beating another man repeatedly?" Albus asked. He did not really expect any answer—one does not, when one sees some people in so much pain that their pleading eyes no longer have much thought or intelligence in them. Just pain, and that bestial instinct that even humans still have; fear. The air was thick with the stench of fear, not least from the men soiling themselves._

"_I was trying out a possible cure for lycantrophy—that one doesn't seem to work much, by the way. Of course he's 'threaded', as you say. If I don't restrain him by his tendons, he's liable to get loose and hurt everyone else in the village—and us, of course, and we don't want that. There are others, but the most notable is the one with the troll. Look at that man! He's not a bloody pulp yet after all those blows; he's only bruised, Albus! It seems that my bone-density potion actually works!" He said, his enthusiasm bright and would easily be infectious on any other day, but not today._

_Albus couldn't look, but couldn't avert his eyes from the events unfolding in front of him either, this spectacle so vivid that it begged his eyes to observe the delicacy of Gellert's handiwork; the man on the farther end had his stomach open, like a cabinet ransacked of many of its contents—the skin hung in flaps to his left and right like a badly made bag gaping. The man's entrails were routed out of his body through glass pipes and vessels of various shapes before it was routed inwards again. His friend had managed to made the intestines somewhat transparent, and now they could see the food travelling down. He didn't know what Gellert made the man eat, but some of the food seemed to be glowing, some a bright firefly yellow, others a will-o-the-wisp blue and other's the odd green of St. Elmo's fire. The man seemed panicked, but with his limbs tied tight to a chair, there was no way he would leave any time soon._

_Another let out a faint keening wail that was only heard if he took several steps closer. The man was strapped down on a chair as well, and at a glance, Albus didn't know why he was in such agony. Of course, that was because he hadn't seen the wriggling of flesh-eating parasites crawling under the man's skin, across his stomach and over his shoulders._

_He took several steps back._

_It didn't feel quite real—it was as if he was at the front row seats of the Grand Guignol again, tense with expectation for another macabre, sensational show. 'All blood and all screams! We give your money back if no one faints!'. Yet the blood on the ground was real. He could see that in the thick red splashes tinting the blades of grass with its rustiness, he could see it in every muddy puddle the colour of chopped livers. There was no stage here, no blaring announcement at the door except for the deceptive chirping of the birds. There were no audience to this demented play but himself—a wizard whom in some other condition would have unknowingly helped his friend with the preparation._

_But it wasn't possible anymore—not after what happened with Ariana. He thought he could just avoid Gellert for a while as he tried to find a way of telling his friend to go away, to tell him that their friendship was now irrepairably damaged. He hadn't managed to do that in these last few days, because every time Gellert beamed at him, he felt he was breaking into pieces. Some of those pieces mourned Ariana, but the others, those traitorous others..._

"_We could change the world Albus! Take a scroll and note down the interesting progress, will you?" Gellert shouted from the sidelines._

"_What... what did you just do to them? _Why_ did you do that to those men?" Albus asked._

_The blond wizard furrowed his brows slightly when he realised that Albus wasn't throwing himself into this work._

"_The muggles, you mean? Isn't it obvious? It's for the change we've always been talking about. Also, to give those men the well-paying jobs they wanted. Trust me, little Sarah isn't going to starve because of her daddy's dedication over there—right there, the chap with the troll," Gellert pointed out helpfully._

_Albus turned his head. The man who had been trying to avoid the blows of a troll had just doubled over and vomited blood—blood and some viscera, even. Albus tightened his jaw. Gellert cocked his head and shook his head, taking some notes in his scroll with slight interest._

"_Oh, I forgot that the stomach isn't protected by the ribs. His guts might as well be a bloody puIp now.I better give Robert a stomach restorative potion and take him out of the hit line for a while."_

_Gellert walked over. With a smooth flick of his wand and an incantation that Albus didn't catch, the battered man came soaring through the air, only to land in a pathetic heap at Gellert's feet. The blond wizard knelt and tipped a vial of restorative potion into the man's mouth quickly, without much concern for the injured spots he was hitting as he handled the man, nor the pained grunt that was sometimes heard. Every wave of his wand and his own movements was in pace with his voice, humming Wagner's Ride of the Valkyrie._

"_Rest well. We'll start again once you're in a better shape." He patted the man's head—Robert, Albus thought firmly, his name is Robert, I mustn't forget that—like an indulgent parent. Or is it a pet owner? Albus wondered. "After that, you get to help me advance wizarding knowledge again. It's not that bad a job, is it?"_

"_Gellert," Albus said, with tension and an unnamed discomfort coiling in his stomach and crippling all happier thoughts. "Gellert!"_

"_Albus!" Gellert gamely replied with his usual unanimous joy radiating from him; the blinding corona of a saint too bright to look upon. He was a sun too scorching for Icarus to approach. "Albus! What took you so long in arriving? I know we haven't been on the best of terms since the accident with your sister. I apologise for that, really. Or is that not enough for you? Do you want me to beg on my knees? I would do that for a friend as good as you, truly."_

'_A good friend', Gellert had said of him, and no matter how much he told himself that it was how Gellert viewed him and how it won't lead anywhere, his heart ignored it. It fed on false hopes and empty dreams, no matter how much he confronted himself of the futility. It swelled, like it just did now, even when the despair he felt when he saw the experiment around him stabbed him in the gut at the same time. Albus closed his eyes, a hand on his forehead, wishing he could just stopped thinking if even for a moment._

_He wanted everything to go away. He wanted Gellert to go away. Back to Germany, back to the Black Forest—he didn't particularly care at this point. Albus knew it was egoistical of him when he didn't know what lay in wait there, but he couldn't think of any other way of ridding his head and heart of its cursed conundrum._

_And of course, to rid them all of the casual devastation that Gellert seems to wield as easily as his strange wand._

"_Albus?" Gellert paused, concerned for his silence. Behind them the moans and whimpers continued, and Albus' sharp mind had noted that he probably weakened their thorax to take away their ability to scream—to limit unnecessary noise and distraction. The blond wizard wiped his hands on the blacksmith's apron that he was wearing and went to his friend._

"_Albus, are you alright? You're touched by the sun too much. I think you need to go and lie down for a while."_

_Gellert meant it. That was the problem with Gellert; he meant everything he said, but he always said so many things and sometimes one sentence seemed to be at odds with another. Or was he himself the problem? Albus thought. Was it possible that he never really understood how the world had looked to Gellert?_

"_You're hurting them," Albus said._

_Gellert snorted, "Hurting? You're overreacting, Albus. They're not going to be dead just from this—I take care of them, see? They'd be fine once this is over—we're not muggles with their primitive and harmful implements. This is their job, you see? I'm giving them a way to be useful."_

_Albus stared into the shining blue gaze, and saw that he had never knew Gellert at all._

'-

Albus shook his head. He didn't realise that while he closed his eyes, the conversation paused, with Geoffrey saying nothing at all at that time. Now, the Potter family patriarch spoke again, starting as if they had ever been interrupted.

"Yes. _Yes the Pendragon Treaty has been breached_, but if so, this wouldn't be the first. It's not as if the Kaiser didn't skirt with the definitions of 'involvement' and 'help' either the last time around, is it? This is just an escalation from that. _It's not unexpected, Albus_. We don't know who did it, really, but the point is, there is no way for us to avoid it now that they have wizards on their side too. It is not a simple affair of simply sitting it out."

Geoffrey was tapping his fingers against his glass now.

"The only thing left for us to do is to tighten our ranks. It's time that our Minister reports to the PM again, and _not_ just when he was being sworn into office."

Geoffrey was somehow not looking at him, only muttering something under his breath about how they could certainly benefit from someone more assertive in his decisions than Chamberlain. With his aquiline nose pointed away, he looked like a waiting bird of prey. He picked up his glass and contented himself with cradling it with care while Albus returned his demons under lock and key.

The wizarding world is at another crossroads again and still small in number. No wonder Geoffrey had been looking for him, and soon, probably other heads of well-known wizarding families in Britain. The wizards and witches, few compared to the muggles, could not afford being torn. The Director of DMLE would do all he could to prevent that; to use all the means at his disposal, all his connections and old friends.

It was clear that Geoffrey could not afford to have Albus sitting on the sidelines right now. Not when he didn't know what he was facing.

"Grindelwald would not have worked _under_ muggles. He would've regarded it as demeaning. He had always thought that wizards should be above them," Hogwart's Transfiguration Master replied after a while. His voice was subdued was of the palest shade compared to the commanding tones he held in class.

"I didn't say it was Grindelwald," Geoffrey said with laudable delicacy. "Just that there are _Hexenmeisters_ mentioned."

Albus gave him a sceptical glance. "Supposed that it wasn't, what other pertinent reason would have caused you to ask for my help, specifically?"

Geoffrey took a careful breath, the glass he was holding exchanging positions slowly, but as smooth as any street conjuror about to vanish it.

"Because I'm sure people change—and learn to compromise."

_That's exactly what you're asking from me, then, isn't it?_ He thought. Just before Albus decided to reply that, Geoffrey opened his mouth again and took a different direction. "After all, you wouldn't mind having me owe you a favour for this, would you? I think it's time that I admit that sometimes I can't do everything by myself."

"A favour..." Albus shook his head. "You _are_ unhinged, Geoffrey. You've always, absolutely _hated_ being on someone's mercy—_you don't even know what I might ask of you_."

"There's no better way to find out than actually giving you one, is there? _I hereby do freely swear a wizard's oath for a favour, if you would be an envoy to Europe_, as long as it does not harm one of mine or go against my honour." He smiled that distinct Potter guileless smile, hands opened and spread to show that he had nothing held back on it.

Albus was still shaking his head, torn between reprimanding him for being careless and just watching how everything will unfold with the fascination of a pedestrian observing an eight-cart-and-three-carriage pileup in a five-way intersection at the busiest hour in London. The number of dialects the curses flying in the air would take will be the first of the many interesting things yet to come. Geoffrey took out his pocket-watch—another modern novelty of his that rubbed some traditionalist wizards the wrong way (a good number of which was ironically younger than him) that he nevertheless couldn't care less about.

"Suppose that I agree..." Albus started. "Let's say that you were the one who went to the continent than I. How would you convince our mutual friends that Britain is safer? They're not some up-and-coming whippersnappers, Geoffrey. They probably spent their lives laying who knows what defences into their ancestral houses. To say that Britain is a far safer place could easily be taken as a blow to their pride, and a reflection of your ego."

"I'd carry several bombs with me," Geoffrey said lightly, far too lightly for Albus' comfort as the Transfigurations teacher tried not to think too much of ending up as a human firework of flesh if he accidentally triggerred the explosives. "I'm sure Benjamin could tell me about how to safeguard it. I'll then ask our friends to place their best wards on some abandoned farmhouse and blow _that_ apart. Better still, let _them_ activate it, to convince them that it truly did not rely on anyone's magical strength to create that much destruction."

Geoffrey paused, raising his glass to Albus before he took another sip. There was a certain challenge in his eyes, and something that Albus was familiar with—unadulterated madness, for no one who is _not_ mad would willingly carry _bombs_ on their person. Yet it was also the kind of madness that drove kings to risk their safety in battlefield instead of playing it safe behind the lines and go chase victory the moment they see it. It was the same kind of relentless, dedicated madness that lead Flamel to find the alchemical formula for Philosopher's Stone out of the ashes of other wizards' dreams. It was the kind of madness that would change the world.

"Alright." Albus said with a sigh. "You _are_ serious about this."

"When was I not?" He quipped, but the smile on his face prompted Albus to shake his head. Geoffrey enjoyed breaking other people's expectations a little too much. The conversation strayed into calmer territories after that, like Geoffrey's grandchildren, but after a while it was clear that he had other things in his mind too.

"It would seem that I have another appointment to fulfil, Albus. I apologize that I can't stay around for too long." He said, closing the watch and slipping it into the recess of his coat again. "Whatever your choice is, firecall me once you've decided which one is it that you're planning to take."

"What are you planning now, Geoffrey?"

"Starting a secret cabal in Diagon Alley." He said, to which Albus only shook his head as he held back his mirth. "We're going to get the goblins to plan to move the thoroughfare underground; what with how prepared the muggles are to use these bombs. We'd keep mum for now, but you know we'd have to raise the issue in public sooner or later."

Albus raised an eyebrow at that. Now _that_ sounds like an interesting idea. "So it turns out that you plan on getting the Minister to have a fit after all."

"Well, we have _you_ to calm him down," Geoffrey said as he brushed invisible lint from his lapels, too cheerful by a half. He utterly failed to sound like the respectable senior members of the wizarding community most see him as. "If I have to be one of the elders now, I'd rather be the crazy one. You'd do better as the voice of reason. You have the wise beard to match. _I_ have the villainous moustache."

"The pincer manoeuvre, Geoffrey?" Albus asked with a smile.

"No, the carrot and stick," his friend corrected.

"How un-Gryffindorlike of you." Albus said with mock-disapproval. Nothing could hide the way his eyes twinkled like blue stars, though. The Potter wizard couldn't resist giving wide grin at the jibe.

"I'm sure you know better than anyone that winning is better than losing, Albus, especially when lives matter. Winning, is better than losing."

The transfiguration master nodded in acknowledgment. "And being alive is better than being dead."

'-

_Finhowe – On the White Lady's Hill_

The tunnel-bridge wasn't exactly the darkest place they've been in. Sometimes a small window appeared to their left and right, showing the forest beyond. It did not bring much comfort though, not when they saw that evening had fallen and nothing like the stars or the moon could be seen. The sky was just an even darker shade of indigo-grey, slowly but certainly turning black. When they passed long stretches of windowless sections, it was scarcely better. Now and then, Hermione worried whether the tunnel would never end (it was irrational, she knew, but she couldn't quite restrain the idea). They had been walking with lumos lit from their wand, but it was decidedly different seeing the weak cold light from it and one from a real fire.

It was therefore quite a relief when they finally found a lit torch spreading its warm light on the floor. The walls had spread out to their left and right, creating a circular chamber. In the middle of the room was a trilithon, the great stone gateway stood tall and proud, astride the passageway that continued on into the darkness beyond. Hermione vaguely noticed that the path sloped down as it carried on beyond the room.

"We've reached the third gate," Hermione said softly, in reverence to its size. Harry nodded.

"There's no doubt about that."

She had her eyes on the stone, the trilithon strangely devoid of runes except for a few at the top (_Sanctuary_ she mused, not a bad omen). It was unlike the first gate, in which one monolith was partly broken and the other nonexistent, unnoticed among the dry and bristly thicket. It was unlike the second where their path was marked by two standing stones, glorified milestones on the road. This was a true _gate_, a gigantic archway, and Hermione wondered if its subterranean location was what had preserved it better than its earlier peers. Its size seemed to be larger than the previous standing stones as well.

"I think this is the best resting spot we'll ever find," Luna said. She had noticed several other unlit torches and brought them down.

"I don't think they'd light that easily," Harry said.

Luna rummaged around her bag, calling various bottles out. "Of course not. That's why I brought some lamp oil with me."

Hermione watched her curiously "Lamp oil? What for?"

Luna smiled. "For lighting lamps, of course! How else does the light in your house stayed on, Hermione?"

"Electricity," Hermione said, proudly. "They're sent from a long distance away. It's very practical."

She was about to go on about just how good the muggle system was when she noticed Luna yawning as the blonde witch went around, placing torches back to where they were before after she lit them. The chamber of the stone circle was surprisingly warm and welcoming after that. Harry had sat down on a large stone block on the ground. Maybe for another time, Hermione mused—they could certainly needed to rest for a while, so she brought her bag around and thought of supper. She had just gotten out the picnic sheet on the ground before she happily dropped herself on it. Luna plopped down with a happy sigh and Harry took the last remaining area for himself.

"_Picnic basket._" Hermione called. Hermione pulled her picnic basket out of her partial-mokeskin bag with some effort.

"Do you still think we carried too much food, Harry?" She asked.

Harry shook his head. "No, definitely not. I feel like I could eat a _cow_."

"I feel like eating and then sleeping for a while," Luna said. Hermione didn't disagree with that, even if there was a tingle of worry at the back of her head that they might've been in Finhowe for a bit too long. She pushed it to the back of her mind again. There was no use worrying when there wasn't anything they could do about it. Now that the adrenaline had left her, fatigue began to set in. She felt drowsy even as her stomach clamored for food, and Hermione groaned at the thought of balancing the two demands of her body.

"Food first," Hermione muttered, "Food. Right, so what are we going to eat now?"

"I remembered Minky placing a meatloaf, a shepherd pie, slices of roasted duck with a heat-preserved jar of gravy, potatoes and carrots, and a _fruit _pie made with preserved berries." Luna offered. Harry's stomach growled at even the mention of food, and the three of them laughed.

"There's also a bottle elderberry juice, and grape juice." Hermione helpfully added.

"I don't think I could sleep now that you mentioned all that," Harry said.

Hermione and Luna remembered which food went into whose bag—Harry's comment was that he knew the roasted duck was in his bag, as well as the fruit pie, and after that he barely paid attention to everything else. Hermione shook her head at that, but without any serious reproach and Luna only laughed. Minky had wrapped each package with care, even after Hermione told her that the objects won't collide with each other in a mokeskin bag—not when she knew the limits of the capacity well. It made for a very pretty presentation as they laid the food on the thick gingham sheet.

"I've never really seen the purpose of painting pictures of food until now," Harry said with a longing in his voice. "You know, these look very delicious and all that, but you know it won't last. You can't help but wonder if you could at least keep a picture of it."

"It's too bad that I don't have my paints here," Luna said wistfully.

"Or a camera," Hermione said, earning the attention of her friends. "You know, the instrument muggles take pictures with? It only needs a few minutes. We have coloured ones now; my father showed one to me."

"You mean those still pictures?" Harry asked.

"Well, it's not as if the shepherd pie's going to dance all the way across the sheet," Hermione remarked drolly. "You won't lose much even if it's not moving."

"But it's so small," Luna said. "Uncle Ben showed me some of them—they can be quite beautiful too. Yet still so _small_."

"Unlike a wizard painting, all it takes is just one _click_," Hermione said, still determined to highlight the benefits of muggle technology. "Only a few seconds! I don't think sitting for a wizard painting, or any painting, is going to take anytime less than a week."

Harry mulled over it as he sliced the meatloaf. "That _is_ quite true…"

"We should bring it over to the wizarding world," Luna said with a sparkle in her grey eyes. "Someone should be able to get pictures that can be taken quickly and still _move_."

"And can be bigger than a postcard. It sounds like a good idea." Harry said, distributing the food to everyone's plates. "Let's tuck in!"

"If only we know where to start." Hermione said while she picked up her knife and fork.

Harry shrugged and started cutting up his food. "We'll take our time. It's not as if we have to finish it by tomorrow."

"And I hear Hogwarts has a wonderful library. We'd have classes and schoolwork, of course, but beyond that, I think we'd have enough time to explore it …" Luna started. From there, the conversation was diverted into their future school, and what it was like based on the rumours they've heard from the adults among them. Hermione can't help but be interested once Luna said something about the fame of Hogwarts library. Then again, how bad could the best wizarding school in England be?

'-

Hermione had drifted into sleep rather soon on the special fluffed gingham, blanket pulled over her. Harry's guess was because it wasn't often that his bookworm friend did anything too strenuous. Harry himself felt some tiredness (it was impossible not to, not after what they've gone through), but sleep didn't come quite easily to him. At first, he thought that Luna had already slept as well, until he could hear her voice somewhere to his right.

"Did you think it was a bad idea, Harry?" She asked.

"What?"

"The wizard's camera pictures. You didn't seem too enthusiastic when I was discussing it with Hermione."

That startled him a little, as he didn't think that Luna even paid attention. She was a tad too perceptive sometimes. Harry thought about it carefully. He never quite minded Luna and Hermione's plans, actually.

"Well, I don't think it's a bad idea. It's more like… I don't know what to think, actually. You always have all those crazy ideas, Luna, and Hermione has her projects. I don't mind going along with you and doing what I could. It's always fun, you know, all those crazy things we get up to?"

Luna laughed at that, but for Harry it was true.

"It's just that all I could see is the complications or how hard it is. Yet once you or Hermione started it, _WHAM! _I suddenly understood what was supposed to happen next. So about yout plan… I think it would take some time. The potioneer skills you need for it isn't going to be easy, but if you or Hermione start it, I think I could help you finish it faster."

He shrugged. "I'm not much of a help other than that, though, especially not at the beginning. I see _nothing_ at the beginning." He finished.

Luna sighed, "You're too humble, Harry. You were the one who made more than one trap in Beauxbatons. You're not that bad at potions yourself."

"I wasn't the one who walked fearlessly towards a troll, alright?" Harry insisted. Luna chuckled again. "And I wasn't the one who insisted on telling de Montmorency that he was _wrong_ in front of the class, and then _correcting_ him. Hermione didn't even think twice about all those girls that flock around him—girls who could be _really_ mean. She started the Campaign for Magical Equality not long after that, as if she didn't know that he and most of the old family crowd wouldn't be against it completely."

"But we wouldn't do it if we were alone," Luna said. She continued just as Harry snorted.

"No, _really_. I've always daydreamed when I was smaller, but I've never really thought about saying them out loud until I met you and Hermione. I thought other people just don't have those kinds of thoughts and wouldn't want to listen to them..." Luna paused, musing on something far inside the depths of her mind.

"I never knew how nice it would be to have friends like that."

She sounded pensive. It was strange, Harry thought, different to hear that know that even Luna realised how atypical she was compared to other people. In his mind, she was always the one going against the crowd with confidence—like the crown of flowers she always have around her head on summer, regardless of how many sniffs Blanche Dubois and her pureblood clique was going to make around her. He hadn't forgotten that the first time they met; he gazed up in surprise at a girl who was on top of a tree without the help of a broom—and they were at a party in the British embassy then. Luna's voice broke through his thoughts again.

"But you're different, and Hermione too. I don't think Hermione would've found the courage to campaign for house elf rights if you hadn't made Andre-Louis apologise to the house elf he shoved aside in the Hall. You did that in front _all_ the houses, Harry."

Harry shrugged. "He was being mean, he deserved a public telling. Even _Philippe de Montmorency_ had better manners than that."

"Yet Hermione was fretting about the house elf campaign even _before_ that. She wanted to, but she didn't know how to start it, or where, or if anyone would listen. Everyone knew how nothing would get done until the old families felt something was important enough, and house-elfs' welfare wasn't one of those things."

Harry snorted, "You know, it wasn't as if you didn't do your share of unexpected antics. Philippe commented about how Armand 'reeks', and you gave Philippe flowers every day to 'freshen the air' until half the class was beginning to believe that you were _courting him_. He took back his words after a week and stopped making pointed comments about Armand."

Luna smiled. "It's easier, because I know that you kept congratulating him on how sweeter the air is around him every time."

"Well, you're never alone. You just forget that sometimes," Harry said.

"You always had our backs, Harry. You just forget that sometimes," she ribbed back. Harry laughed.

"Touchè, Luna. Touchè."

'-

**Classified Time **

_A Small Unmarked Hut in the Countryside just south of Paris_

It was the day before Benjamin Granger would execute the whole plan of 'escape from France' with his good friends, and four days before he ended up going back to England via magical means. The cloud of German aggression was never far from his mind these days, but if he had to point out a single discrete incident that triggered his flight from France, he would point this event out to anyone who had asked. _There_, he'd say, _that is when I realised we cannot avoid it here, and it will follow us all the way home anyway_.

It started like any other day at the office. He was stuck in a small cottage almost in the middle of nowhere, well away from the city and its wonderful amenities. It was enough to give the best of men cabin fever in the colder seasons.

One of the simple rules that Benjamin Granger lived by was to never bring home any of his work. It was a good principle in general for more than one reason: 1) He wanted to spend time with his wife and daughter and actually pay attention to them, and 2) The material of his work is mostly of the 'state secret' level of clearance for which a purposeful leak is definitely classified as treason, and 3) It was the best excuse to use to get Sophia from bringing home _her_ work, which she never talked about much either. That lead him to conclude that 4) His wife's work is probably no less mundane in its classification than his.

When his Polish and French comrades managed to decipher a message whose plaintext they still thought as coded, he thought his heart stopped for the second he heard it. There was _nothing_ that could stop him from committing the message to memory to recall later on. It was the end of the day, and all he wanted to do was to get home quickly and find his friends; the Potters and the Lovegoods. Luckily, no one was paying attention to him at that time because everyone was too baffled with what they were reading.

"Request for _Hexenmeister_ support given?" He could hear Armand's voice rising in French. "What kind of unit is _that_? If I am being a little _artistic_ in my interpretation, it's probably some sort of artillery. Yet to send one man for every infantry unit doesn't make sense!"

He tried to stay uninvolved from the developing conversation—he didn't want to be forced to hide his reactions from his friends, or even to lie. He wasn't the best of liars, and he didn't want to try it when a master interrogator was among them. Benjamin Granger knew too well the 'unit' they were talking about. Unfortunately it involved a different kind of secret. Edmond, the gravest and tallest of the Frenchmen, made an observation everyone secretly wished they didn't have to face.

"They're fooling with us, then," he said, his voice loud in the sudden silence that made them uncomfortable. "They knew we've managed to break their communications and this is their joke for us; 'try to make sense of that now, suckers.'"

The peace and quiet that their office had from being located in the countryside outside Paris did not feel like a blessing right now. Especially not with the bare trees outside and the lack of animal noises. The winter atmosphere was starting to chill them too, no matter that the fireplace was filled and roaring.

"No, it couldn't be," Benjamin cut in before the paranoia stepped up in the room. Armand was already starting to chain-smoke like a factory stack. Previously, he was only up to mimicking a residential chimney. "There's too much traffic—it's not worth falsifying that much chit-chat. The leads that we've uncovered before _this_ message was also real enough."

"But there is no way to tell if they fed us that on purpose to make us believe the dummy. We don't know what they might be trying to distract us from—it might be a worthwhile sacrifice decoy for a major operation," Edmond said again, perfectly reasonable in his argument and making good use of his height to command the attention of the room. At times, Benjamin was glad for Edmond's incredible intellect that he could discuss certain aspects of applied maths without having to dumb them down. Right now, he did _not_ think it was a good thing at all. The tall Frenchman's worst-case scenarios were almost always worse than anything everyone else could come up with _combined_. Everyone was hanging to Edmond's every word at this point.

Benjamin couldn't hold back a snort.

"You know something about it, didn't you?" Andriy asked, staring at Benjamin with his blue eyes. With his round cheeks and boyish appearance, he looked as harmless as a newborn chick and people would probably let their guards down around him—precisely the kind of reaction he was trained to exploit. If sighing wouldn't make the wrong impression, Ben would like to do that very much. He rubbed his temples instead. _Grabowski was too observant for anyone's good_, he mused.

Everyone was now staring at Benjamin with differing intensity; from Edmond's methodical scrutiny to Armand's more obvious look of pained surprise. Ben sighed. He couldn't bear the thought that his colleagues would think the worst of him and hurried to placate them.

"The message is real. I know what a _Hexenmeister_ is, and the message did their abilities enough justice," Ben finally said as he ran a hand through his hair. He raised his hand before Armand could curse him from not saying anything sooner. "Unfortunately it involved a different kind of state secret that I can't divulge to you. I'm not cleared to do that."

Edmond was staring at Benjamin without blinking, like a large barn owl trying to decide whether a certain small mammal was worth chasing or not that it began to discomfort him. "So it turns out that we never really know your actual position in the British Foreign Office, do we?" Edmond asked.

Ben really hoped he didn't have to have this conversation at all. "No, my position is exactly as I've told you—" he ignored Armand scoffing with disbelief at this point. "—and regardless of that, the message is real. Tell Paris that you have an urgent message for Minister Aristippe Murat, or failing that, Eugene Delacoeur. While you pass the message along, tell them that with this proof, they have no choice to start being involved with the war."

_Grindelwald is not giving us another option, is he?_ Benjamin thought about what this meant about the safety of his wife and daughter in France. Hiding with the magicals did not seem as good an idea as it had been before. _So much for Charlus' theory that he'd never ally himself with the muggles_.

"We don't have anyone in the cabinet right now with that name—" Edmond started. Benjamin couldn't stop himself from chuckling right then, as his friends turned their attention back at him. He stopped immediately once he noticed that the signs of his nerves fraying were getting a bit too audible.

"Oh believe me, there is one high-ranking official in the French government under the name of _Aristippe Murat_. If you don't know him, then there has been no reason for you to even realise that his post exists at all. It's kept on a need to know basis, gentlemen." He said.

_Thank goodness for parent-teacher conferences in Beauxbatons, eh?_

"What is he responsible for?" Andriy had succeeded in holding back his curiosity from the question. It was still obvious in his eyes, though.

"Let's just say that he is the leader of the French equivalent of the so-called German _Hexenmeisters_. I don't know how much I can tell you other than that. If it's alright with you all, I'm going to go home and contact the British equivalent. I hadn't expected this development."

Everyone was staring at him as if he had grown a second head and that second head had started talking. Which, he supposed, was _kind of_ true, figuratively speaking.

"You know that I won't believe anything you're going to say about how you're just a low-level foreign office rat anymore, right?" Armand asked. Edmond nodded, staring at Benjamin as if he had only truly seen his teammate for the first time that day.

Benjamin cursed silently.

"Really," he started, "I just happen to—aw sod it. I _know_ those looks you're having right now. I'm just saying that whatever you're thinking is probably not true."

Andriy Grabowski was the first to smile, "Yes, you're probably in an even stranger and yet no less critical position than we could ever guess. Am I right?"

Edmond shook his head. "You'd probably make a good spy, Benjamin. You look like just another harmless professor, but no one would ever guess what you actually have inside that head of yours."

Benjamin groaned. He gave up on explaining altogether and just slumped down on his chair, his head in his palms even as his coworkers grinned (or like Andriy, chuckled).

'-

**Unknown and Unspecified Place and Time**

Hermione was walking on the dusty path with a definite sense of purpose. It was rather hard to say specifically _what_ her purpose was, but she knew she had been searching for something for a long time and now she felt as if she was once again close to the trail as conversations began rising to her left and right (it felt easier, she mused, to walk with longer adult legs). Some were merely chitchat to keep up with the current news while others were definitely the voices of people trying to get a better deal for the goods they were procuring—on the other side, there were merchants, of course, steadfast in their insistence that the price was indeed fair. Her dress were two pieces of good linen wrapped and secured around her, but it was the gleaming pin of red rooster embelished with garnet and another of tortoise with speckles of emerald on her chest that had perhaps affected the more plebeian members of the crowd to give way to her, whether she noticed it or not.

"If I milk all my cows dry and collect the proceeds, I still won't be able to afford all the vessels that I need! Why can't you keep your price reasonable like Alcaeus?" A young man to Hermione's right complained. The merchant in front of him scoffed.

"If it's Alcaeus that you admire, then choose his wares instead of mine!"

Hermione nodded to herself, feeling partial recognition, even if precise names continue to elude her. She couldn't even remember what city she was in, at least before she dismissed it as not important. It didn't _feel_ important, and she moved following a subconscious instinct pulling her somewhere instead of any conscious deliberation as other parts of her memory stayed within a deep fog. The stalls and vendors spread out around her, for she had reached what seemed to be the agora. A gaggle of tall amphorae clustered like children among several merchants, and she guessed that she had entered from the olive oil merchants' side. Hermione ignored the people plying their trade and offering the tastiest fruits this side of the Aegean Sea, her eyes set firmly forward and occupied only with the search. Red, ripened pomegranates and fresh glistening grapes beckoned her, but she walked on (the temptation was there, to turn around and maybe take an idle taste). What she sought was not something sold, she was sure of that, and as such was not going to be found on the market side of the agora.

Soon the chatter, bargaining and disagreements drifted behind her with every step she took, and the stalls and stands receded in number. Her feet had somehow brought her the men discussing under the myrtle trees.

"Let's say that Achilles started a hundred steps behind the tortoise, to give the tortoise a better chance of winning. Let us say that Achilles is ten times faster than the tortoise, and that they both start running at the same time," a tall and fair youth with light brown hair captured the attention of his peers. All eyes were upon him. "Achilles will never pass the tortoise. Even if he is ten times faster than the tortoise, by the time he reaches the tortoise's starting position, the tortoise would be in front of him 1/10th of the distance between them at the beginning. The tortoise would be ten step distance ahead of Achilles."

"But surely Achilles could keep running? He'd yet to run out of breath from covering just a mere hundred steps." Another one argued.

"Ah, he could cover the ten steps that lie between him and the tortoise, but by then the tortoise would've progressed a step ahead of him, see? And Achilles has yet to overtake him. If Achilles goes forth to cover that step, the tortoise would've been ahead by a tenth of a step. It goes on to infinity! Achilles would _never pass the tortoise_."

There were frowns all around because they felt that the real world doesn't work like that, but none of the other men had any idea of how to refute the argument. It nagged them because they felt that it wasn't the right conclusion, just by instinct.

"Cleitos would always outrun Diodoros in the Games, even if he started fifty steps behind him," a sombre-looking youth said, remarking of a well-known fact of the city. All the other young men around him nodded easily. The youth who put forth the argument didn't back down so easily.

"Of course he did. But how would Achilles ever pass the tortoise, I ask you?"

There were more annoyed grumbles, and complaints from most other people that he really need to stop bringing up all these nonsensical paradoxes. The youth seemed to be enjoying his friends' discomfort (and not a little hidden admiration).

"Achilles _would_ pass the tortoise, given enough time," Hermione finally said. She couldn't help it—she had been itching to say something from the beginning. _This is a problem that could be approached with limit, isn't it?_ The men turned to her with a mixture of confusion and surprise. She ploughed on, before anyone of them could find anything wrong with her presence there.

"Let us say that the difference between them is a hundred steps, then. Let us say that for Achilles to run to the tortoise's starting position would take χ amount of time. Now, there is the distance of ten steps between them, and Achilles tries to close that too. This time, he is only covering a tenth of the initial distance, and it would only take 1/10 of χ to reach where the tortoise is. Of course the tortoise is still one step ahead of Achilles, but let us write down what has happened so far." Hermione picked up a fallen branch from the ground, and tried to find some suitable sandy ground. The people stood up and followed her, curious.

"At time χ after the start of the race, we have Achilles covering 100 steps."

She wrote that on the ground. She didn't stop to wonder why the letters she had just written were unfamiliar to her because she could still understand them and knew what they meant. "Then at time χ plus 1/10 χ, he covered 110 steps."

'_Achilles covered 100 steps in χ time after start._' Hermione wrote on the first line.  
>'<em>Achilles covered 110 steps in χ time plus 110 χ time after start._' Hermione wrote on the second line.  
>'<em>Achilles covered 111 steps in χ plus 110 χ plus 1/100 χ time after start._'  
>'<em>Achilles covered 111 and 110 steps in χ plus 1/10 χ plus 1/100 χ plus 1/1000 χ time after start._'

"I can continue this into infinity. Yet even before that, I am sure that there is an easily recogniseable pattern here. Even if it seems that there are unlimited number of smaller distances to cross, those steps will take less and less time that a hundred of the smaller ones will be crossed in the time it takes to blink! If we wait for, say, two χ time to elapse after they start, we would see Achilles far in front of the tortoise."

"Just because there are millions of grains of sand doesn't mean that we could not contain them all in one amphora. Just because we can divide the distance that Achilles ran into infinitely smaller parts does not mean it will take infinite time to cross them. Especially not if we know Achilles' speed." Hermione finished. It was rather anticlimactic for a while, because she noticed that everyone was still reading. She reread her scriblings, tried hard to see the letters on them and sighed. No wonder it was hard to see the pattern that she could see in her mind of steadily decreasing incremental distance as well as time by a factor of ten.

_The pain of greek numerals knows no bound..._

While she was musing on the difficult number system, a brilliant smile grew on the puzzlemaker's face, as he admitted her skill with a grace that not many has. It took him some time to take his attention from her scribbling, but he understood what she was saying.

"I didn't know that there is a woman philosopher in this city," he said. "That was some excellent analysis."

"I was only passing by," Hermione said as her cheeks grew warm from the praise. She felt that Socrates had outlined the weakness of that problem, anyway, even if her fuzzy memory didn't really give her the exact details of it. Her reply there was a quick improvisation on her part.

"If you could find a solution to that one, then do hear another one. I have been trying to find anyone who could challenge me and I have yet to reach that target," the young man said, stepping closer.

Hermione dithered. It was tempting to linger and stay, to extend the conversation, but the urge to seek onward renewed in her heart and she could not deny it any longer.

"Well—"

Her curiosity speculated about what other problems the young man might have. Yet she never had the chance to give an answer to his offer as the bustling sounds of a busy day began to fade away. It wouldn't have troubled her if it didn't fade away into _nothing_, an absolute stillness in which she didn't hear the birds chirping or the wind passing through the cypresses that bordered this place of meetings. Somehow, at one point, he was no longer in sight. She glanced around with worry, trying to find the cluster of myrtle trees (how did she get so far from it?). The outline of the young men were visible even from this distance, and they were still there, still talking. She could hear their voices but it was muffled, as if coming from far away (she was sure she wasn't _that_ far). Even for all the steps she had taken towards them, she didn't seem to be coming significantly closer.

"_Let's say that Achilles started a hundred steps behind the tortoise, to give the tortoise a better chance of winning..."_

"What?" Hermione's voice rose. "We've just gone over that!"

A voice greeted her from behind, much sharper and clearer than everything else.

"I think you owe me an explanation, Ms. Granger, as to why you have brought yourself here again."

She spun around, and this time she was face to face with the strange man with eyes like night in robes, in the same sort of _chiton_ she was wearing. He seemed old now, older than she remembered, especially with a walking stick in hand. Mnemosyne had arrived in the hazy plaza not far behind him. The stately lady furrowed her brows in confusion at Hermione.

"Don't tell me that you want to go back now?" She asked.

"Back?" Hermione asked. "Back to what?"

_Back to an England still recovering from another Dark Lord_, her memories tell her. _Back to an England that does not seem to want to learn from its mistake yet. Back to a place where it feels easier to just head to hell and help Sysyphus' boulder uphill than to stay in the wizarding world and try to change it_.

Hermione sighed, massaging her temples after a jolt of images filled her . She was the one who wanted to travel here. She's in one of those imprecise area again; a dreamplace.

"No, I don't want to go back. It seems like being a child isn't that hard to get used to. Now, I think all I need are the _memories_. I don't suppose you've changed your mind regarding them, do you?" Hermione asked (she would've begged if it made any difference, but she suspected that it was undignified and wasn't going to have much of an effect). Mnemosyne shook her head at that, her beautiful hair falling over her shoulders. The answer was clear in her eyes, even if she had barely said it out loud. _No_. Hermione sighed, gesturing towards the men debating about a foot race between Achilles and a tortoise.

"Alright. So what was that... then?"

"Memories," the man answered, his head strewn liberally with white hair. "_Mine_. Now that you've gone and walked right into it, that is probably the version I'd remember _forever_."

He wasn't as grouchy as he had been before; instead he was weary. His breath was occupied with repeatedly long sighs peppered with dramatic pauses. His thoughts were taken somewhere else that he didn't seem to be quite focused at Hermione. After answering her, he returned his attention to the tablet he was holding, muttering and scribbling things at occasions.

"I give up. I don't think I knew how it went without you walking in there," he said with a sigh.

"Err... I'm sorry for that?" Hermione said, perplexed. He shrugged it away easily. It was clear he did not blame her, yet his gaze still seemed heavy.

"Don't mind it. It's not your fault. I should've been more careful..." he murmured, walking away from Hermione and Mnemosyne to who-knows-where. Guilt flitted around in Hermione's head, but as much as she didn't want to cause him trouble, she knew no way of helping him—she didn't even really know how to find her way around here, after all. She and Mnemosyne were still in the agora, but the people passed them as insubstantial as shadows, as untouchable as mist, carrying on ephemereal lives under a faded sun. They didn't feel real now, not like they had been before.

The odd fog around them thickened at parts—in two different parts, to be specific, and Luna and Harry dissolved into the room from nothing. One moment they weren't there, and after seeing vague forms drifting in, her friends were suddenly standing beside Mnemosyne. Hermione raised her eyebrows—at least until she remembered that she had gone to sleep earlier than Harry or Luna.

"Why are we here, again?" Harry asked, still looking sleepy. A moment later, Harry stumbled, cursing under his breath as his eyes opened wide. His memories must have started hitting him then, Hermione thought. Luna was as calm now as she had been when she arrived, fully well adjusted after blinking several times.

"I asked the same question _before_, and I haven't had the answer." Hermione said. She turned to Mnemosyne. "Why are we here, if you won't give us our memories?"

"Did you happen to sacrifice a bull on an ancient stone altar?" Mnemosyne asked.

"What? Of course not!" Hermione said.

"A cow, perhaps? Or several chickens?" Mnemosyne asked again curiously. "In an auspiciously inaugurated land? A hill? With a procession of priests assisting you?"

"We're in a hilly land, but that's about it." Hermione said, shaking of her head with certainty. There were no priests involved in their travails for all she knew, and she was certain that the confused look on Harry's face said more or less the same thought on hers. The guardian of memories frowned, and the longer her musing went, the more Hermione was concerned that this unexected trip may not be completely a good thing.

"That _is_ odd. You wouldn't have been able to reach the portals between worlds from the wizarding world without incurring a significant cost," Mnemosyne said. "I dearly hope it isn't something you can't pay..."

"But we're not _exactly_ in the wizarding world," Harry said, clarifying. He held himself with the air of a full citizen, certainly with more confidence than his young self did. "If what I understood from Luna's explanation is right, we've been travelling across worlds."

"Yes, we're sort of in-between right now. In fact, we're _all_ sleeping under a gigantic gate." Luna said.

Hermione's eyes widened as realisation grew in her mind, and she exchanged knowing glances with Harry. It was... plausible, and the more she thought about it, the more it made sense to her. The great stone arch etched only with the sign that could either be sanctuary or sleep.

"That's right! We're right under a gate right now..."

Mnemosyne nodded as she listened to all the explanation that they had to give. She carried a basin in her hands, one that she placed on the ground in front of them (where it came from, Hermione didn't know). The water was dark—or perhaps it was the metal container itself that lent its colouring, Hermione couldn't tell. As Mnemosyne whispered words above it, bubbles rise and even in the limited space of the container a small whirlpool seemed to form before fading away. When the water calmed down again, the sleeping forms of young Harry, Hermione and Luna could be seen, under the watchful trilithon lit by flickering torchlight.

"I see." Mnemosyne smiled, and the grases grew greener under their feet, lush. They were no longer in the memory agora they had been before and somewhere else. A field, high on the cliffs overlooking the sea. She raised her head and met their gaze, her brown eyes warm and open.

"I tend my own business for a while and here you are, straight in the middle of another adventure! It seems that you are fated to live truly interesting lives indeed. It was not a wrong decision on my part to ask that the Gates be opened to you the first time around."

"This errand is all Iwain's fault, really." Hermione said, but it was uttered without rancour. "And Harry could never stand still when anyone's in trouble."

Harry rolled his eyes but accepted Hermione's jibe as the compliment that it was.

"He has a hero complex," Luna offered. "He has to constantly prove that he's a hero in case anyone thinks that he's an inconsiderate and pampered heir of an old wizarding family. Which he isn't, by the way."

"I _don't_," Harry insisted.

"Yes you do." The reply came from Luna and Hermione in unison before breaking out into a chuckle as they realised what they did. Harry raised his hands in mock surrender and in good humour. He knew well enough when he was outnumbered and when it was the right time to back away. Even Mnemosyne seemed to be infected with their easy mirth.

"If we ask for it everytime we meet you in a dream, would you give our memories back faster?" Luna asked, "Or would we need to pay it with the _moon_?"

Hermione didn't even know if what Luna was saying made sense, but Mnemosyne laughed, her voice carefree and yet light.

"You were all under a Gate of Dreamers. That is the only reason we happen to encounter each other. For now... I will have to say something about that to the lady of the land about the inconvenience that her gates tend to create. Further unexpected visits here by passing travellers would need to be prevented. As for your memories, I am sure I have made that clear enough. They are there. They are asleep. Think hard enough of them, rummage through your thoughts for long enough and perhaps you will find the ends of the threads that would allow you to pull them loose."

'-


End file.
